


What Father Doesn't Know...

by playout, PrinnPrick



Series: Father Knows [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, HP: EWE, Humor, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Minor Sexual Harassment, More humor because I suck at being serious, POV Alternating, Porn With Plot, Sexual Content, Slash, So Much Dirty Talk, Then again I'm terrible at comedy so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 80,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4030567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playout/pseuds/playout, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinnPrick/pseuds/PrinnPrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to the one-shot "Father Knows Best" that continues on from the Wedding day.</p><p>Draco Malfoy is practically a shut-in who makes his money writing popular, though ridiculous, novels.</p><p>Harry Potter is a serious Auror whose sense of justice hasn't changed much since his time at Hogwarts.</p><p>Seven years later, they meet again in the most unexpected of places: a pure-blood wedding. After some conversation (and surprising confessions), Harry is determined to fix what he can of Draco's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Playout is Harry and she does an awesome job of it.
> 
> I write as Ron, Draco, Lucius, and my new fictional buddy Gladys. Some of you may not agree with the way I portray Draco or Lucius.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Unexpected Reunion

It was dreadful. 

Despite the funds being so extravagant, the entire affair was as stereotypical as any other wedding he had attended: a plain vanilla wedding cake, chocolate Groom's cake, white everywhere in safe satin and silks, orchids in dreadful displays meant to be "tasteful" (really, who thought purple and pink orchids would be appropriate in a bouquet with yellow Gladiolas? Two dripping plants smashed together in a color scheme of rainbow vomit), and even the liquor was boring and safe. Just some basic two-percent wine mixers in various colors. Usually there would at least be _real_ wine. Of course the one good tradition had been thrown. Luckily, there was a punch bowl and even luckier was the vodka Draco had a feeling he would need carefully stashed away inside his cloak. He casually cast a Notice-Me-Not and poured half the glass bottle into the defenseless strawberry and cherry sparkling whatever with a sneer of glee. After, he stole the vodka away into the pocket from whence it came and scooped a generous amount for himself into a delicate, flower shaped wine glass.

 _Much better. Now I have a real reason to stick around,_ he thought as he took a generous swig and leaned back against the ivory column just to the left of the drinks. It was covered in swirls of white and silver ivy that coincidentally matched his suit.

Draco Malfoy wore low neck, white robes styled with a high collar instead of a cropped neck. There was a sliver of silver and a hint of black on the thin, rumpled tunic below with delicate chains dangling just at the bared cleft of his breast. His dress trousers were white along with the knee-high belted boots he wore. Around his neck was a velvet, white collar. His nearly shoulder-length blonde locks were left to fall around his face and neck in an artistic mess.

Needless to say, he received a few glances--both sneering and leering. His father told him not to wear white to a wedding, even though that rule was generally in the case of the women, so of course white was his theme for the night. 

He didn't notice at first as someone else sidled up to the table for a drink. Or rather, he _had_ but hadn't bothered to see _who_. Instead, he slanted his hips and let his free arm dangle--in no way hiding his boredom, despite manners dictating he should put on a brave face and bear it.

******

Harry needed a drink. The starched collar of his shirt was strangling him--he'd already stuffed its accomplice, the tie, into his suit pocket. He was roasting alive in the bloody jacket but Hermione told him he couldn't wear just a shirt and slacks to an evening wedding. Who came up with those asinine rules, anyway?

He hated weddings as a general principle, unless the people getting married were among his nearest and dearest or there was an open bar. Unfortunately neither was the case that night. Robards, the conniving bastard, had ordered Harry to attend in the hopes of currying favor with the bride's family. Sylvia Rosier had been kidnapped for ransom two months ago and Harry had been instrumental in her safe and speedy recovery. Her grateful parents had insisted he be added to the invite list as a token of their appreciation and he'd had every intention of respectfully declining until Robards caught wind of it and saw an opportunity for political advancement (with Harry as the Chosen Pawn, yet again).

Perhaps the only thing Harry hated more than weddings was politics.

With a barely concealed grimace, he surveyed the piddly bar offerings. There was nothing there to catch his eye... except perhaps the rather fit (if flamboyant) blond lounging against a nearby pillar. If he weren't stone sober and there in an official capacity he might even consider chatting the bloke up.

Oh well.

Harry was just turning to leave when sudden recognition hit him over the head like the club of a cave troll.

" _Malfoy?_ Is that really you?"

******

Just as Draco was finishing his first (of what would be a few) glasses of tainted punch he heard his surname being gasped by an oddly familiar voice. With a glass petal still tipped gently at his lips, Draco froze in shock.

_It couldn't be..._

Quicksilver eyes slowly widened as he turned to regard the voice beside him. The glass nearly fell from his grip.

"Well," Draco cleared his throat and lowered the wine glass. He offered the Hero a playful smirk. "If it isn't Harry Potter! Delightful to see you again, ol' chap."

The blonde turned and curled the ladle in the punch to fill his glass again.

"Didn't expect to see you here... Didn't even recognize you! Since when did you fill out so nicely?"

Draco stood with his fresh cup of pink sparkling vodka and watched the Auror under a casual gaze.

"If you were hoping to get smashed... I suggest the punch. I added some _pep_."

******

Harry mentally retraced his steps to see if perhaps he had been confunded or dosed with some sort of mind-altering potion without his noticing. The bloke looked like Malfoy (a looser, smilier, shinier version of Malfoy, at any rate) and he responded to the name, but he certainly wasn't acting like the Malfoy Harry knew. This friendly--borderline _flirty_ \--fellow was something else altogether.

Unless he was simply trying out a new tactic for getting under Harry's skin with the mistaken assumption that he was homophobic.

That seemed likely.

"None for me, thanks," he replied with forced politeness about the apparently spiked punch. No way was he trusting any drink the Slytherin had tampered with. "I'm representing the Ministry tonight."

He caught his rebellious eyes trying to wander over Malfoy's... unusual... outfit and coughed into his fist to cover it.

"Well," he said, turning to leave for the second time, "Goodnight, Malfoy." (He'd considered adding a 'nice to see you,' or something like it, but that wasn't true.)

******

"Running away already? Do I really scare you that much?" Draco asked with a dramatically sad sigh. He drank deeply from his glass, enjoying the burn in his throat. He didn't bother with prudence when it came to drinking as his tolerance was so high due to years of forced consumption at formal parties and social gatherings required of all "proper" pure bloods. Drinking like a fish was practically embedded into his DNA.

"And here I thought I was being friendly! You wound me."

******

Harry thought about continuing as though he hadn't heard the git--he was obviously being sarcastic, anyway. (Malfoy must be as bored him and had probably decided that a bit of Gryffindor baiting sounded more fun than standing around drinking or tampering with the refreshments.)

Why, then, did he stop?

He certainly didn't appreciate being called a coward--even implicitly--but a juvenile tactic like that should not affect a seasoned Auror like himself, who had been trained to resist physical and psychological torture of the highest magnitude. He could shake off an _Imperious_ , for Godrick's sake, so what was it about Malfoy's snide tone that froze his feet to the ground as if spelled and made him turn back around, degree by begrudging degree, almost against his will?

He would have to think on that later. For now he scowled and said through his teeth, "What is it that you want, Malfoy?"

******

Draco fully expected Potter to continue to walk away, but just like old times the Hero ended up surprising him by turning (reluctantly) at the taunt. There was an odd thrill about the way Potter practically growled the words at him. He took another long sip as he considered his response and stifled a chuckle.

"Honestly? I'm bored out of my mind and wanted to talk," Draco offered the Auror a small smile. "It's been--what? Seven, eight years? Forgive me for being curious about the man you've grown up to be. Speaking of, when did you begin to consort with the richer set? Or were you forced?"

Draco had turned back to stare among the party goers as he spoke; upon the word "forced" he seemed to lose his smile in favor of a grimace. Though, with a small pique if satisfaction, he did note a small number of curious on-lookers. Some turned away at being noticed while others just held their chins higher.

 _Still as famous as ever. That certainly hasn't changed..._ He smirked again. _Neither has his temper, if that last display of teeth grinding is anything to go by._

_******_

Malfoy said he was being honest and for one of a very small number of times in his life, Harry believed him. That didn't mean he wanted to have a conversation with the irritating man, however.

He followed Malfoy's gaze over the reception hall and caught the hastily turned heads and defiant stares of several curious onlookers. There was literally no one among them he wanted to talk to. He'd done his duty in wishing the bride and groom congratulations and thanked the Rosiers for the lovely evening. He'd plastered a polite smile on his face for all the greedy, beady-eyed sharks who wanted a piece of Harry Potter to advance their standing in the cutthroat circles of pureblood society even though half the people in the room had been rooting for the other side in the war. A celebrity was a celebrity, apparently. Even a dusty one like him who had done very little of interest in the years since.

Hermione, bless her heart, had offered to come with him, leaving Ron at home with Rosie for the evening. But Harry hadn't wanted to expose her to this crowd--even if the word mudblood never crossed their lips, it would be clear as day in their disdainful sneers and limp-wristed, reluctant handshakes.

He cast a _tempus_ charm. 8:43. He'd promised Robards he would stay til nine (in exchange for a three day weekend the following week). Deciding the enemy he knew was better than the one he didn't, he angled his body towards Malfoy and crossed his arms.

"I am here in an official capacity," he replied. "This isn't how I would choose to spend a Saturday night if left to my own devices."

******

The pause between the offer of conversation and Potter finally responding went on just long enough for Draco's smirk to falter. Of course the Savior of the World wouldn't want to talk to him. He was almost tempted to just walk away, but who knew if he'd see the git ever again? Pushing his annoyance aside, for now, Draco heaved a long sigh.

"Sylvia is apparently some third cousin or something so of course I was expected to show up. If I hadn't thought my father was going to be here, which he isn't--surprise, surprise--I wouldn't have even come."

He turned to Potter and grinned mischievously.

"Like my outfit?" He asked as he held his arms out and stood straight from the column. "I'm hoping I'll be less likely to attend these things if I don't look the part of a proper guest."

With a shrug and a very put-upon sigh the Slytherin frowned.

"I should have known I would make even this look good." He chuckled. "You at least know how to wear a suit, even if it looks as hard as a brick. Why did you choose to wear something with such a stiff collar?"

He reached out his free hand toward the opening of Potter's top near his neck while the Auror was staring away from him to the crowd and gently grazed the skin he met with careful fingertips.

"Your neck will rash."

******

Harry took a hasty step back. Malfoy touching his sensitive neck was definitely not on. At least the goosebumps that had broken out in the wake of that single glancing brush of fingertips were mostly hidden by his suit. He hoped his expression hadn't been too panicked.

He straightened his collar and went to push his glasses back up his nose before remembering that he wasn't wearing them. (In fact, he hadn't for almost two years--they were too much of a liability in the field so he'd gone and done a muggle procedure involving lasers, a disturbing amount of machinery, and the smell of his corneas burning, which he would never be able to forget, but at least he could now see decently well without corrective lenses.) He ran his hand through his hair instead, probably mussing beyond repair the style he'd attempted subduing it into, and cleared his throat.

"The collar's fine," he lied. He glanced quickly at Malfoy's outfit (the frosty colors and gaping neck and...chains?) and decided it would be best to pretend he hadn't been asked his opinion on it. "Why stay if you're only here to appease your father?" he asked, changing the subject.

******

"Whatever," Draco held his hand up in a submissive fashion as Potter jerked away before wrapping it over his own waist. There was a sardonic smile playing at his thin lips. "I was going to offer to soften it for you, but I suppose you always did prefer things _rough_."

There was plenty of innuendo laced around that single syllable.

"It's customary to stay when one has already arrived, of course. I may not attend these things so often anymore, but manners dictate I stay at least until the cutting of the cake. And I do enjoy cake. I deserve something sweet after all my evening's suffering!"

That was when it clicked. How had he not noticed it before? He stared for a long moment directly into Potter's eyes and blinked as the realization that they were no longer obscured hit him like a hammer to the face.

"You aren't wearing glasses anymore," he accidentally said aloud with wide eyes. "I _thought_ your eyes looked brighter than I remembered."

******

Harry started. Talking with Malfoy was like riding a broom through a gale given the speed with which he changed direction and the rapid cycling of his moods, and now he was peering directly into Harry's eyes and the silver of his own was striking. (They happened to be as bright as Harry remembered, but not as mean.) The whole exchange was disorienting and left him feeling out-of-balance.

"Keen observation," he replied sarcastically, attempting to regain his footing. "I had a procedure done. My vision isn't perfect, but it's a good deal better than it used to be."

Something Malfoy had said niggled at his brain. "You don't get out much anymore, do you?" he asked.

He knew for a fact that was the case. Witch Weekly had taken to referring to Malfoy as _'the Handsome Hermit'_ and went ballistic with photos and speculation any time he appeared at a charity gala or some such nonsense with another fat check from his family's deep vaults (the same vaults that had gotten Lucius released 'for good behaviour' after just **two** fucking years.)

... He only knew that because Gladys was a dirty old lady and often left her copy of the glossy magazine open on her desk, which he unfortunately visited several times a week to request files from the records room and had to put up with her creepy flirtation and borderline sexual harassment (she only released the files to him if he went for them in person so she could leer at him with her gap-toothed smile).

It wasn't like Harry made a point of reading the articles about Malfoy or anything.

******

"A procedure to fix your eyes?" A curious brow quirked high upon his forehead and his eyes lit up. "At St. Mungo's? Is it new?"

_Damn. Maybe I have been away too long? But my networks are still active... A new procedure to fix one's eyes should have been news._

Draco paused only momentarily on the thoughts racing through his head with the new knowledge he received in order to wink at the straight-laced Auror while he still held his gaze.

"Well, those atrocities you used to wear never did you justice anyway. As for me... No, not really. I don't see the point anymore. At first, I would go to clubs and parties in an attempt to have fun and act my own age again, even for a little while... But the hatred of The Mark doesn't leave you anywhere you go. One man at a rave tried to stab me with a needle full of air. Between daily spittle, occasional rocks, and curses or hexes being thrown my way I just found it easier to remain at home."

Draco chuckled, despite the seriousness of his words.

"Father always wanted me to help restore our name by acting 'like a proper Malfoy', which may have helped spur my hermitage."

******

Harry frowned. He knew the anti-Death Eater sentiment was still strong but he hadn't realized it was bad enough for Malfoy's _life_ to be in danger.

So much for the peace effort.

But he could resonate with the impulse to just stay inside and avoid the public. He did that often enough himself. How Malfoy spoke so flippantly about such matters was disconcerting, though.

"The procedure is muggle. You wouldn't have heard of it," he said dismissively. "But did you report that attack to the DMLE? I don't remember it from any of our briefings and you're high profile enough that it would have come across an Auror's desk at some point."

******

"... Muggles have a procedure to fix eyes?" The very idea of it was mind boggling, at least to Draco. He lifted his glass to his mouth once more and mulled over the magical possibilities of a similar, Wizarding version as he drank.

"Did I report it?" He asked to make certain he heard right as his mind returned to the present. "Why bother? If I reported every incident of attack, why, you might as well arrest all of London!"

Draco finally set his glass down and turned to fully face Potter. He offered a long, pale hand again and flashed his teeth in a playful grin.

"Enough of that. This subject is far too depressing. Let's dance!"

******

Harry must have misheard. Malfoy couldn't possibly have just asked him to dance.

But then why would he be standing there with a hand outstretched, mischief on his face and challenge in his laughing eyes?

"I'm sorry. _What?_ "

******

Draco patiently kept his hand outstretched in invitation. His grin widened at the look of shock on the Auror's handsome face. Without the glasses, not only were his eyes no longer obscured (and they were quite a brilliant green), but his cheekbones were also visible. They added to the realization that Harry Potter was, indeed, a full grown man now. A blush threatened.

_I wonder when he grew those?_

"Scared, Potter? No one would blame you. We _are_ men... And in the face of your scrutinizing public."

******

" _For Godrick's sake_ , Malfoy," Harry hissed, glancing around to see who might be watching, "put your bloody hand down. You're making a scene." He moved to stand between the infuriating prat and the majority of their curious onlookers.

"And, no, I am not scared to dance with a man," he added tightly (because Malfoy's taunt demanded a reply), "but that was not part of my agreement with Robards for this event. I demand at least a week of paid leave if he expects me to dance."

******

"So I take that to mean you're as terrible a dancer as you were during the Yule Ball?" Draco did drop his hand, but only as far as his hips; both palms were perched on the planes of his waist. "Besides, when does your presence _not_ cause a scene? Or mine for that matter? Just being in the same room causes a stir, so why not?"

The Slytherin's playfulness turned into challenge as he stared down the inch or so below at Potter's annoyed features. Something seemed to flash behind the silver of his eyes, coupled with a smug smirk reminiscent of their childhood days.

"Don't be such a prude, _Auror Potter._ "

******

_Fucking Malfoy!_

Harry's skin prickled, his breathing shallowed, and he became literally hot under the collar as his temper rose. Seven years since he'd last seen the smug bastard, yet Malfoy knew how to press his buttons as well as when they'd been kids.

His voice of reason told him to walk away. _Just take a breath, say goodnight, and walk away, Harry._

But since when had he walked away from a challenge?

He met Malfoy stare for stare. " _I lead_ ," he growled, yanking the man unceremoniously onto the dance floor by his elbow.

******

There was nearly a crow of triumph, nearly, as Draco was dragged onto the dance floor. Though he kept any noises to himself, he didn't bother to suppress the excited grin that nearly reached his eyes.

"Oh, so forceful," Draco drawled with an undertone of seduction as they took the steps onto the levitated stage. It was white marble with soft fairy lights casting dim luminescence hanging overhead. The blonde allowed himself to be forced toward the very middle, the guests parting like water as they approached. "As long as you don't do that prepubescent thing and hold me at a respectable arm's length, I don't mind giving in to your lead."

******

Harry grinned pure malice. Malfoy didn't mind it _yet_ , but the dance hadn't even begun.

He kicked Malfoy's stance wider with the edge of his shoe and pulled him forward--nearly causing him to stumble--until their chests were flush. He then placed a possessive hand on either side of Malfoy's narrow hips and leaned to whisper in his ear, "Is this _close enough_ for you?"

******

 _Merlin..._ Draco gasped (a manly gasp, and certainly not at all the squeak it might have sounded like) as he was suddenly jerked against the Hero and gripped nearly to the point of bruising. There was a giddy screaming in his head and the light blush from before finally breached his pale cheeks.

_This is almost like chapter thirty-two! Now if only this had been a pirate ship... I should write another pirate story since those are all the rage again. Wait, what am I doing? I have_ Harry sodding Potter _in my arms, willingly, after seven years and I'm thinking about books!_

"Why, Potter! Who knew you could be so... roguish?" There was a breathless quality to his voice as he replied. He wrapped his arms around the Auror's neck. "Well, lead on."

******

Harry wasn't an exceptional dancer by any means, but he'd learned the basic steps of the formal dances favored by purebloods and society elites well enough that he could hold his own at whatever Ministry function he was trotted out for--like a prized bloody pony--and he knew that attitude was as big a part of the equation as putting one's feet in the proper locations (preferably not on top of one's partner's). So he squared his shoulders, straightened his spine, and led with the confident power Madame duPris said was his greatest asset on the dance floor.

Malfoy glided through the steps more easily than him, as expected--the man possessed more willowy grace than was fair or reasonable for someone so pointy and acerbic--but he seemed affected by Harry's unexpected prowess. He watched Harry with slightly widened, appreciative eyes and a small, genuine smile playing about his mouth.

As they made another turn about the dance floor, Harry began to find himself affected as well; heart thrumming in his throat for a reason wholly different from the physical exertion of the routine.

******

Everyone at the wedding seemed to be staring at them and whispering under their breaths. Normally this would alarm or annoy the Slytherin, but he found dancing with Harry Potter (though less than perfect) was actually enjoyable. The idea of allowing his former rival to lead him around the dance floor all night was becoming a more and more welcome idea. They were no longer chest to chest, as that would have made it difficult to move, and one of Draco's hands had slipped into Harry's to assume an appropriate stance.

"See? Not so bad, yeah?"

******

Harry snorted, much of his anger forgotten. "Not so bad," he agreed with the reluctant hint of a smile.

He surreptitiously scanned the room to find they were the focus of every single pair of eyes, including the gaping bride and groom. He sighed. There would be hell to pay for this little stunt.

If there was a silver lining to be found, maybe Robards would think twice before forcing him to attend the next stuffy society function.

"I believe it is time for me to take my leave, Malfoy," he said as the dance came to an end. "Fun as this has been," he added sardonically, releasing his unusual dance partner and bowing with his forearm braced across his stomach, according to the custom.

******

Draco curtsied dramatically, since he had been the follower, with a light-hearted roll of his eyes.

"Well, then, Potter, it has been... Interesting," he offered in as bored a mien as he could muster. "I'm off to get cake, then! Good bye."

Draco saluted and moved to the steps off the marble platform, ignoring the expected hissing of gossip. The blonde silently cackled at the subdued outrage and shock of the other guests.

Not long after, Draco felt it was finally appropriate to leave. Apparently Potter had felt the same, as he was no longer in attendance when Draco turned to look one final time (once his cake had been consumed.) The blonde left with a sad smile as he silently wondered (doubted) if he'd ever run into the Auror again.

oo00oo00oo

Later that evening, after Harry had bid his apologies and goodbyes to the pinched-faced celebrants, the bloody suit had been banished to the floor of his wardrobe, and a generous amount of firewhisky had been poured and consumed, he climbed into bed to unwind with a few chapters of the latest trashy romance he was reading.

They were his guiltiest of guilty pleasures. Hermione had gifted him one as a joke for his birthday last year because the love interest supposedly reminded her of him (which was all kinds of weird given the explicit sex scenes). But green eyes, black hair, a troubled past, and a fiery temper were such a staple of the genre that they were practically cliched at that point, though Morias did seem to favor the type more than most authors he had read so far. And his stories were exclusively of the homosexual persuasion, but for some reason Harry found them the most compelling. There was always an edge to them--heat and challenge and mutual strength--that was lacking in most of the novels with a female protagonist he'd tried. Even when the authors tried to give their heroines a spine, the women still ended up wilting under the touch of their skillful lovers. Harry would toss the book in the bin at that point. Morias's men, in contrast, never lost their character or convictions, even in the throes of passion. And that's why Harry had read every one of his novels even though he wasn't really bent.

Not that he didn't find the erotic parts stimulating. Or even that he'd never fooled around with a bloke before. But stuff that happened when one was three sheets to the wind didn't count, right? That's what he kept telling himself anyway.

The argument was less convincing than usual with thoughts of Malfoy--strange and irritating, but undeniably fit--drifting through his head.


	2. Interrogation

It was far too early in the morning for Draco's taste when he first woke up to the sound of beak tapping on glass. He blinked his eyes open and slowly moved to stare at the window where his dark-green curtains shielded his sensitive gaze from the harsh light of day. The tapping came again, obviously insistent. Draco yawned as he carefully unwrapped himself from his cocoon of blankets--just before he jumped with a cry and fell. A loud, wall shaking "Boom!" indicated another insane storm. As the blonde grunted and rubbed his bruised backside (forgetting the sheets he had pulled off the bed in his surprise for now), he wondered how he had been sleeping at all with so much noise.

Luckily for the owl waiting outside, Draco's windows had small sun-setters jutting out at least a foot over the glass. He jerked at the hinge and admitted the somewhat soggy bird.

******

Harry tried to keep himself busy while he awaited Malfoy's reply but jittery anticipation made his short attention span even worse than usual. The fitful night of sleep wasn't helping anything. Neither was the fact that he couldn't stop perseverating on Malfoy. If it wasn't the owl he was thinking about, it was the unusual details of Malfoy's supposed attack (which had spurred him to send a letter in the first place) or, worse, the surprisingly...not repulsive...way Malfoy's body had felt when they danced last night.

But he had contacted Malfoy as an Auror, he reminded himself with a stern shake of his head. He would be strictly professional--brief and by-the-books--when he visited that afternoon.

 _If_ he visited that afternoon.

...

Some 30 minutes later, a sad, soggy owl landed on his desk with a wet plop and a baleful glare. He gave it an extra treat for the trouble of being sent out in the rain and scanned the parchment it bore to discover that Malfoy had agreed to the visit but sounded to be in a right snit over being awakened so early (which was patently ridiculous because Harry had sent the owl at 10:30 that morning).

_This should be interesting._

With a sense of foreboding that matched the nasty weather outside, he donned his heavy coat, cast an impervious charm, and made his way street side to apparate to the coordinates nearest Malfoy's residence.

******

It wasn't even noon yet when he heard the rapping of knuckles on his door. Draco was finishing up his second cup of extremely strong tea with a tired glare and pajama bottoms covered in penguins. He hadn't bothered to dress in anticipation of the Auror's visit. Hell, he couldn't fathom why the Auror even wanted to come to his home. If it was "official business" as Potter said it was, Draco thought it might have been more prudent for the man to demand his presence at the Ministry. Not that he was entirely complaining... Despite his annoyance with the hour, he didn't mind a surprise visit from the handsome, gruff Savior.

With a flick of his wand, Draco levitated the cup to the sink. He stood to answer the door, but not before taking a cursory look around his apartment--wondering what an impression it would make. Everything was sleek, black and silver, and made of Manticore leather in his living room (his bedroom door was shut tight and the entire floor warded to hide what looked like tornado damage.)

The knock came again. He sighed and answered the door with only mild trepidation.

"Potter," he greeted without inflection. "That desperate to see me again, hm?"

******

Malfoy was in pyjamas. Why was Malfoy in pyjamas? It was nearly noon and Harry had made an appointment, which Malfoy had confirmed. Yet there he was, half-naked, and wearing...penguin pyjamas.

Harry's mouth went suddenly dry and his stomach did a little flip as his eyes traveled over the man's lean, angular form. With great effort, he pried his gaze from Malfoy's (pale, smooth, delectable) torso and met his taunting smirk.

Had he misinterpreted Harry's purpose in being there? That seemed to be what he was implying with his dig. As if Harry would use the pretense of Auror business to pull a bloke. (He'd only ever done that once, and it had been to pull a woman, thankyouverymuch.)

"Malfoy," he said gruffly.

When the prat continued standing there, not inviting him in, Harry looked pointedly at the fat raindrops falling down around him and raised his brows.

******

That was kind of unexpected--to be perused in such a way. Potter's lovely green eyes seemed glued to his body for a few seconds too long, and what a delightful surprise that was. He quirked a brow and stood aside to allow the Auror room to move past his door. He closed it with a quiet click after and locked it with a basic charm. Normally, he would have cast enough locking charms to prevent even the Hogwarts teachers entrance...

_This is Harry Potter. I doubt anyone is stupid enough to try and attack me with him here._

The blonde strolled past Potter and over to his large, black couch where he jumped onto the fluffy cushion with a "fwump!". He waved a hand in invitation to the other end.

"Take a seat. You can occupy the lounge chair if the couch is too _intimidating_ ," Draco said with a rather lively waggle of his brows.

******

For the life of him, Harry could not figure out how to handle Malfoy's little taunts and challenges. Did he want Harry to sit next to him? If so, Harry should take the chair. But if he took the chair, then Malfoy would smirk and call him a coward. It was impossible to win.

So settled, Harry resolved to ignore Malfoy's childish games and do whatever he damn well pleased, which, in this case, was to sit in the chair. He preferred to face an interviewee directly; it was easier to see the subtle nuances of body language that way.

Not that there was anything _subtle_ about Malfoy's body at present.

Before seating himself, Harry took a moment to look around the house. It was a sleek, modern, stylish bi-level. Quite unlike the interior of the Manor except in the exorbitant price-tags he assumed the furnishings had come with. There was a large black bookcase along one wall, filled to the brim with an assortment of thick, old tomes that would probably make Hermione drool. There was also a set of books on the mantle that looked to be new. He couldn't discern anything more about them from that distance but he'd try to get a peek at them later. He believed that a person's taste in literature said a lot about them (and tried not to apply that principle too strictly to himself when it came to his own choices of late).

"I wanted to talk with you about the attempt on your life," he said in a brisk, businesslike tone, lowering himself into the chair.

******

Draco cast a nonchalant glance toward his second level where his bedroom was. The second floor had a railing but no walls, and normally one could see the bed and matching brown and black antique suite from the living room... But now with at least ten strong cloaking charms the upstairs appeared blank--like an unused, empty room. He turned back to the Auror, lifting his legs onto the couch and curling them under.

"I assume you mean the needle incident? Quite a strange instrument, a muggle syringe. Normally magic would destroy certain muggle technologies, but a syringe is manual--metal and plastic. No mechanics involved... Almost unassuming and so tiny. You can probably imagine how surprised I was to learn about it."

Draco leaned forward with a wry grin.

"Would you like to see it?"

******

"Oh," Harry blinked. That had been unexpected. "Well. Yes, that would be helpful, thank you," he replied, somewhat stilted.

The syringe had been the detail he hadn't been able to shake. It was just so odd. Few wizards would even know what one was to look at it, let alone consider using it as a weapon. And it didn't seem to be the sort of thing a pureblood like Malfoy would have had any exposure to. He'd considered the possibility Malfoy was lying, of course, but on the off-chance that he wasn't, he decided to follow his intuition and put his wondering to rest with this visit. That Malfoy had the thing in his possession was an unanticipated boon.

******

The blonde stretched himself out across his couch like a languid cat first: his legs straightening out over the seat, toes spreading, torso twisting slightly, and his elbows curling over the comfortable arm. After a quick yawn, he finally stood up and walked around the couch. He picked up his wand from where he left it on the dining room table (he no longer needed a wand for basic locking charms he had done them so often), visible from where Harry sat, and quickly returned.

"Accio syringe," he called with a wave, and from the seemingly empty second floor flew a wooden case. He caught it and walked back to the living room.

"Catch," Draco called as he tossed the box over to Potter.

******

Harry was grateful for the distraction of Malfoy retrieving his wand because that stretch had just been absurd.

 _I mean, who does that?_ he thought irritably, annoyed at both Malfoy for the preposterous display and himself for being affected by it.

He _was_ affected by it. That much was unquestionable.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and barely had enough time to catch the wooden case Malfoy chucked at him.

He shot the git a warning glare and flipped open the lid as Malfoy circled back around to drop onto the couch like the shiftless lay-a-bout he'd apparently become. Sure enough, the box contained an empty plastic syringe with a hypodermic needle, nestled on a scrap of black velvet. He wordlessly levitated the implement so he could inspect it from every angle without touching it.

"Can you please tell me, in as much detail as you can remember, the circumstances leading up to the attack, the attack itself, and the aftermath?" he requested, dropping the syringe back into its housing, and leveling Malfoy with a penetrating stare.

******

Draco leaned his elbow into the arm of the couch and then placed his cheek into his open palm. He frowned softly at Potter.

"... Why does it matter that much to you? It's not as if anyone cares what happens to former Death Eaters."

However, he knew why it mattered to Potter: because it was Potter. Mentioning the needle may have been a mistake, and now the Slytherin wondered why he had mentioned it at all. 

The entire incident shook him enough to lose interest in his once coveted "Night Life", he knew, and spoke volumes about dangers he hadn't thought to worry about before. Muggles were something he never thought twice about and considered harmless... Until that damned needle. Maybe that was why he told him? Who better to keep you safe than a real life hero?

"Well, it was a while ago, I'm afraid. About two years. I was wearing gloves that night and I put it away in that case right after so my magical signature shouldn't be on it."

He paused for a second to examine Potter's Auror robes, pretending he was deep in thought--as if to recall the details.

"I admit I was a little drunk. Not buzzed yet, thank Merlin, but tipsy. I didn't see it at first. We were all on the dance floor: me, Blaise, and Pansy. There was glitter, colorful lights..." Draco snapped his fingers. "That's right! The club was called ' _The Brink_ '! It was fairly new and the security was supposedly high; no wands allowed. It's... Why we went."

Draco sighed.

"Anyway, so we were dancing and the crowd was just a big jumble of people. You couldn't stand anywhere without being crushed between bodies. I was starting to feel claustrophobic and was leaving the floor when a young man approached me. He smiled like he knew me, I smiled back because he was cute... And then I noticed his hand was held tight at his side. When I looked, thinking he had somehow gotten in with his wand and might curse me, that's when I saw it. He lunged forward as he called me a ' _Disgusting Death Eater_ ' and tried to strike me with it. He was small and scrawny, so it was easy to wrestle the thing away. The whole event only took a few seconds. He ran after that."

Draco shrugged, as if the whole thing was no big deal.

"I thought the instrument was strange. I mean, how could something so small do anything? There's the needle, but other than breaking the skin it seemed less effective than, say, a knife... I suppose security felt the same, or he got away with bringing it in because it was tiny. I found out later how badly I misjudged the lethality of certain muggle instruments once I conducted a little research."

******

Harry rapidly filed away information to sift through later--the shifting of Malfoy's gaze (up and to the right, recalling rather than fabricating), the way he plucked at the fabric of his pyjamas (anxious), the admission of his sexual interest in the (male) assailant and his level of intoxication, the name of the club (the Brink), the people he was with (Zabini and Parkinson), the hitch in his voice when he said 'misjudged,' the fact he'd saved the syringe with a mind for evidence but had never bothered reporting the incident--nothing was beneath his attention or care.

One never knew how crucial a seemingly trivial detail might be until the end.

Malfoy was telling the truth. That much was obvious. It was also obvious, despite his cavalier tone and careless shrugs, how badly the attack had shaken him.

"Was that when you stopped going out?" he asked quietly. (The question wasn't truly pertinent to the investigation but his curiosity got the better of him.)

******

Draco frowned at the tone in Potter's voice. It was almost like sympathy, or at least close enough to make the blonde cringe. His eyes lowered to his glass coffee table as he tried to regain his confident smirk.

"You tell me, since you seemed to have kept up with my lack of appearance--or so you indicated at the wedding. I was almost touched! So, exactly how long have I been out of the constant lime light?"

His voice cracked a little at first, but quickly gained a snarky momentum.

"Apparently the only publications to have mentioned me are Witch Weekly and The Prophet. One refers to me as some lost prince type and the other still speculates as to what my illegal activities must be while I'm hiding. Which have you been reading?"

******

Harry should have known better than to offer anything approaching sympathy to Malfoy. The prickly, unstable, irrational, infuriating _bastard_.

" _You're_ the one who said you'd quit the party scene last night," he said hastily, defensively. "I simply put two and two together. That is rather what I do when not actively engaging Dark Wizards."

He was on the verge of babbling. A big, fat tell if there ever was one. Realizing this, he reeled himself in. He took a deep, steadying breath in through his nose--the bridge of which he pinched between his thumb and forefinger in an attempt to stave off the tension headache he could feel forming--held it for a beat, and released it with a gusty exhale.

"And, for the record, I don't subscribe to either one of those rubbish publications," he asserted, more evenly. "You're not the only one they write 'hard-hitting exposés' about, you know."

That was as much of a personal admission as Malfoy would get from him. Tit for tat. Hopefully it would be enough for him to retract his claws.

Clearing his throat and bracing his arms on his lap, Harry shifted fully back to Auror mode. "But that's neither here nor there," he said brusquely. "I don't need to know the details of your private life for the purposes of this investigation. I would like you to please tell me everything you can about the assailant. You said he was slight and weak and that he seemed to know you personally. Since then, have you determined his identity or what his motive might be, beyond your former allegiance to Voldemort?"

******

That was right. He did mention that, didn't he? Of course Potter wouldn't have actually kept up with his activities, that would have indicated he might have wondered where he was--and why would he? With a deep, heaving sigh Draco nodded and let it go, despite the odd sting of disappointment.

"I can't really say much," he began as he raked a hand through his hair (and realized he needed another haircut.) "The club was fairly dark. The lights were hovering in a high ceiling. I think his hair was brown? Eyes might have been blue? It was two years ago..."

Of course, he was lying with that one. He recalled the man's face almost as clearly as he knew his own. He remembered the clothes he wore, the oh-so-innocent smile, and the flare of his eyes when he attacked. The man himself was hardly a threat at all (terribly weak and easily subdued, though he hadn't been as scrawny as indicated and should not have been quite _that_ easy to stop), but it didn't halt his natural paranoia from kicking into high gear about what else the world had to offer in way of deadly surprises.

"Look," Draco straightened up in his seat and offered Potter a sad, but soft smile, "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but defending me is only going to make your life harder. Those 'rubbish publications', random dark anything, and anyone from Wizarding London--including the possibility of your own friends--will turn, bite harder, and make your life a virtual hell because you stood up for me. The time you did... before... people saw it as forgiving and heroic, but this time they will suspect favoritism through deep pockets."

By "before" he meant at his trial. He remembered the entire proceeding with regret in his eyes.

"Even if you caught this guy, it doesn't mean I'll be safe from someone else doing something else to end me--maybe even something similar. It's just the way it goes. And besides... I do get out sometimes: to charity auctions and to Pansy and Blaise. I just don't go out dancing and drinking. It's not a big deal."

_I was just happy to see you again._

******

Malfoy had been truthful before. Now he was being genuine.

The distinction was striking.

Harry realized that Malfoy's cocky, irreverent veneer was a mask for the almost crippling fear and sadness that had come to typify his pathetic existence. He was trapped...as much by his fear as the very real threats the outside world posed, all because of that ugly, spiteful scar on his left forearm (barely recognizable now after its connection to its maker had been severed).

It reminded him painfully of a young man sobbing in the loo.

And a little boy crying in a cupboard.

He promptly forgot the lesson he'd learned not five minutes earlier--his heart clenched in sympathy. And the roaring lion within him (which demanded justice for all and championed the plight of the downtrodden) pawed and paced on Malfoy's behalf.

"I know this isn't easy or comfortable to talk about," he began carefully, hoping to strike the proper balance between concern and professionalism, "but I also know that you wouldn't have told me about the attack in the first place, and you certainly wouldn't have held on to that syringe, if there wasn't at least a part of you that wanted your attacker found."

He leaned forward in his chair, pinning Malfoy with a significant look, and continued, "You are right that catching him wouldn't eliminate every threat but it would send a message. Every citizen is equal in the eyes of the law: you are entitled to the same basic protections as everyone else, just as your assailant deserves to stand trial for his crime."

Harry allowed some emotion into his voice, the weight of his conviction lending strength to his words, "You've already served your time. This self-imposed house arrest is unfair. And I couldn't care less what the papers say about me. They have been printing lies since I was a kid. A sterling political reputation and positive public image mean next to nothing to me, I have no intention of running for Minister. What I care about is doing what's right. In this case, that's helping you," he pointed at Malfoy to underscore the statement. "So would you be willing to give me a pensieve memory of that night?"

******

There was something just so damned beautiful about watching Potter get so worked up, and over Draco of all things. A light blush tinted his pale features as he stared on at the passion being displayed right there in his living room.

The blonde had to turn away. He bit down on his lower lip and nibbled on it gently as he weighed his options. He had already established, at least with himself, that he did hope to be "saved", in a sense. Draco took several moments deciding what to do, so long his lip was eventually replaced by his thumbnail--a childhood habit his mother highly disapproved of.

Eventually, his thumb was set free. He licked his drying lips and silver once again met bright, jewel green--which seemed to flicker. He smirked as confidently as he could muster.

"You are quite the Hero, aren't you? Just like in school." The words were fond. "I'll give you the memory, but on one condition."

******

Harry snapped his eyes up from Malfoy's mouth, hopefully quickly enough that he wasn't caught staring. The man's outfit (or, more precisely, his lack thereof) was making it rather difficult for him to maintain the cool detachment he was supposed to display in an interview.

 _Of course there is a bloody catch._ He sighed and settled back in his seat.

"And that is...?" he prompted reluctantly.

******

Draco didn't seem to realize what a distraction his lips and borderline nudity were. He stood once again (stretching himself out with his arms high above his head one last time) and walked around his couch with his wand in hand, apparently heading upstairs.

"Don't ever change," Draco said simply, almost inaudibly, before casually pointing his wand at the door and unlocking it.

In a more direct voice he added, "I assume you'll be sending an owl for that memory appointment, yes? If so, I'm sure you can show yourself out. I'm still tired."

He made a show of yawning wide to emphasize his point.

"I'm available anytime between two and ten and not before or after."

******

Harry remained seated and blinked slowly, his mind temporarily stalled by the conflicted directions it was being pulled in.

Another lewd, languid stretch and he was being dismissed.

Malfoy just up and left.

After saying something really quite strange.

Harry's tongue felt heavy and awkward in his mouth. He wanted to call out. To say goodbye, at least. Even a grunt of acknowledgement. _Something._

But he just sat there. Blinking.

Malfoy's bedroom door shut and locked with an audible click.

So that was that, then.

Finally remembering himself, Harry took a deep, energizing breath, shook his head to clear it, and craned his neck to the left and right, releasing the pinching tension coiled there with a satisfying pop.

He should go. He could ponder the entire odd visit once he got back to the office. It was rude to linger after one's host had departed.

He levered out of the overly plush chair, stole a final glance at Malfoy's room (which, he now realized, had been heavily glamoured), and went to walk out the door when he remembered the books on the mantle. Doubling back, he peered close enough to read the spines and was surprised to discover that they comprised the entire Morias collection.

It shouldn't be all that surprising, he supposed a moment later, since Malfoy was bent. It didn't seem the sort of thing the pureblood would go for, however. The books were somewhat cheap and tawdry, for all that they were well-written. If nothing else, shouldn't they be hidden away in his room, instead of on display in a position of honor in the otherwise tasteful and decorous flat?

Harry was forced to admit, once again, that he didn't know Malfoy half as well as he thought he did.

Thoughts tumbling chaotically, he saw himself out with the intention of sending an owl when he got back to the office.

After two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playout has taken over a good bit of the editing. We have also decided to separate the POV's versus trying to manipulate everything toward one or the other. We're lazy, don't want to mess with the other's writing, and we're lazy. So this works. 
> 
> Chapter one has been given this same format as well as some Playout lovin'.
> 
> Lastly, you may notice a distinct lack of Draco snark in the next couple of chapters (or rather not as much as there should be.) It'll return, and in full force. No worries.
> 
> Added: Draco lives in an open bi-level. In case that lay-out confused anyone.


	3. Investigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, playout here. My apologies for the long delay. Prinn had her stuff done ages ago. I'm the lame one. Sowee!

"Oi, mate. Wha'cha got there?" Ron asked around a mouthful of crisps. He was dipping back in his chair with the crisps bag on his lap and his feet settled over the edge of his desk.

It was another long day at the Ministry ("long" because there hadn't been an interesting case in ages, which was a good thing for the citizenry but dreadfully boring for Aurors. The most excitement happening that week involved a flasher, one robbery, and the Weasley Wizard Wheezes shop having another explosion due to experimentation gone wrong.) He had been watching Harry mull over a large number of files for the past hour.

"Must be big if it's got you in a snit," the red-haired Auror added with a hint of hope. "Care to share with your partner?"

*****

"Nothing too exciting, I'm afraid," Harry answered apologetically, looking up from his big fat pile of dead ends and nowhere leads at his obviously bored partner. "A two-year-old assault case that was never reported. There's probable cause for attempted murder given the weapon of choice was an empty syringe, but the victim was able to fend off the attacker, who promptly fled."

Ron's expression was bewildered at his mention of the implement so Harry took the time to explain (pantomiming the act of injection), "A syringe is a device muggles use to inject liquids similar to potions into someone's bloodstream, usually for medicinal purposes but sometimes for recreational drug use. It's unlikely it would have been fatal even if the wizard had succeeded in stabbing the victim with it, but enough of a gas injected intravenously, or worse into an artery, can stop someone's heart."

He looked back at his stack of useless files--Hogwarts' roster from the years Malfoy had attended, a comprehensive list of war casualties, and a single newspaper review of the high-end club where the attack took place, which highlighted their so-called 'impressive and innovative' security measures--with a frustrated sigh. It was always harder tracking down relevant information on a cold case.

"Only a muggleborn or possibly a half blood with some kind of muggle medical background or connection would know that, though," he asserted, turning back to Ron. "Which should narrow down the list of possible suspects considerably but I haven't had any luck so far." He frowned. That meant another visit to Grabby Gladys.

Unless...

"Hey, speaking of which," he said brightly, giving Ron raised brows and a toothy smile. "Would you be a mate and go down to the records room for me? I need the names of every Wizarding family that applied for reparations from the Malfoy fund and I've already had to see Gladys twice today." His lip curled involuntarily at the memory of her wholly inappropriate plunging neckline (and wrinkly cleavage). "Pretty, pretty please?"

*****

Ron let Harry talk with rapt attention. He nodded his head every so often to show he was listening. Once Harry was done explaining, he swept a freckled hand across his jaw and his eyes turned downward in thought.

"Well, maybe we could--wait, did you say Malfoy? As in, this case involves one of the _Malfoys_ nearly being killed? You're helping _them_?"

Ron vehemently shook his head.

"No way, mate! I'm not suffering her pinching fingers for a _Malfoy_. I'll help you look for a culprit, but I refuse to suffer for one of those gits."

*****

Harry groaned. Ron saved himself a scolding by offering to help search for the attacker rather than saying something unconscionable like Malfoy deserved it, but he really wasn't being a team player here. And Harry really, really didn't want to put up with Gladys's leer three times in one day. One more would put him off dinner, he was sure.

Time to haggle.

"What if I mind Rosie for you one of these nights?" he suggested, spreading his hands like an offering. "A couple of hours, you and Hermione could get out just the two of you..." he drew the words out, practically singing them in an effort to make them more enticing.

He actually enjoyed time with his goddaughter so it would be a win-win-win if Ron said yes.

_Please say yes._

*****

The flat look Ron sported at Harry's "bargain" could have rivaled his own mother's.

"You like spending time with Rose," he argued. "Not. Going. To. Happen. Besides, my _mum_ , who would be more than happy at any time to take her, doesn't purposely fill my kid up to the edge with sugary goods before sending her back--unlike certain God Fathers. Go get the files yourself... For which Malfoy anyway?"

*****

_Rude!_ And where did Ron get off using one of Molly's looks on Harry, anyway?

It was time for a N.E.W.T.-level tactic.

"Fine, be that way," he huffed dramatically, standing with a creak and a groan (whether from the chair or his joints, he wasn't sure). "I don't envy you the flaying you'll be getting when 'Mione finds out you turned down a perfectly good opportunity for a child-free date, though. Hasn't she been after you to be more romantic lately?" he asked with false innocence, knowing for a fact that was an on-going sore spot between them. (Harry's private theory was that Ron was stacking up rather unfavorably against the men in Hermione's current 'light reading.')

He went to walk out the door, slowing his steps only a little and counting down from 10 in his head.

_Nine...eight...seven...six..._

*****

It didn't come. After years of living with Hermione, Ron was finally starting to recognize when he was being manipulated. He simply crossed his arms, sat at the chair behind Harry's desk, and smiled.

"Nice try, you unbelievable wanker! But you've used that tactic one too many times on me, and don't think I didn't notice how you avoided my question! Once you get back from Lady Feels-You-Up I want all the details, including the victim's name."

There was an evil cackle.

"Don't worry... I promise to take care of your stuff should you die during the visit. I'll use Grimmauld Place to store my porn."

*****

Harry needed a new best mate, he decided irritably as he stomped downstairs to Gladys's lair. Maybe Seamus was available. He was always good for a laugh and would do almost anything on a dare...including snogging Harry once, but they were both completely pissed at the time. (Harry only knew it had happened because Dean would never let either of them forget it; fortunately, what happens between Gryffindors stays between Gryffindors).

Gladys was grinning lewdly at her magazine when Harry approached. He'd already seen this one. Everyone had seen it. Neville (aka Hogwarts Herbology Hunk) had finally been talked out of his trousers. The issue sold out in record time.

"Hi Gladys," he said perfunctorily, trying to convey busyness and polite disinterest. "Can I please have the restitution records from the Malfoy vaults?"

*****

Gladys, at first annoyed to be interrupted, fluttered her eyes up toward her new guest. She smiled immediately once she realized who it was that had come to visit her.

"'Ello, 'Arry," she said in her most flirtatious tone, which sounded cracked and oddly monotone. "Come ta see me again, yea? Is this a subtle way of lettin' a guhl know?"

She licked her lips like a wolf after catching their prey. Her beady eyes flashed.

"'Ow come I 'aven't seen _you_ posin' for photahs yet?"

*****

Harry ground his teeth hard enough to leave cracks. "I will not be posing for photos like that," he said tightly. "Not now. Not ever."

Not only was he not nearly as fit as Neville (who had surprised everyone with his dramatic transformation in late adolescence), but he had no need for the princely sum Witch Weekly offered for the photos. With a baby on the way and Hannah considering selling the Leaky to stay at home full time, the money Neville earned gave them some peace of mind. Harry, on the other hand, had two large vaults at Gringotts, no dependents to worry about, and an aversion to having his picture taken. No amount of galleons could convince him to stare seriously in the middle distance while slouching in cotton pants and an open dressing gown, bulge prominently on display.

Exhaling through his nose, he continued, "Sorry to disappoint you, Gladys. I'm actually working on an attempted murder case, as I mentioned before, and I need that list of names to try to identify the suspect. I'm meeting with the victim tomorrow afternoon so I need all the time I can get between now and then to focus on the case."

Trying to hurry Gladys along was risky. The woman was prone to getting her feelings hurt and she had no compunction against being spiteful and vindictive in the workplace--she'd suddenly 'remember' all sorts of forms and authorization procedures that would take hours, if not days, for Harry to complete before finally releasing the records to him. So he hoped he came off as sincere rather than dismissive (even though he wanted to transfigure the repulsive lecher into a toad and 'accidentally' lose her in the Atrium's fountain).

*****

"Not ever?" Gladys asked in a low, croaking murmur as she leaned over her desk to display her oozing, wrinkly cleavage. She offered him a lecherous smile. "Too much woman for ya?"

She sat back normally with a chuckle.

"I 'ate to tell ya, but those files are private. Ya'd need permission from the recipients or from the Malfoys themselves to get access. They're bank records, ya see."

*****

Harry was trying very, very hard not to unleash a torrent of expletives (and possibly hexes). Malfoy was now making his life difficult without even being in the same borough as him.

"Okay," he said resignedly, unballing his fists and forcing himself to breathe. "I will owl Malfoy. If you could have those files sent to my office as soon as you get authorization, I would really appreciate it. I will be in the field all day tomorrow so I won't be able to pick them up myself." That wasn't strictly speaking true, but Harry hoped against hope he'd paid his dues enough for the Universe to be satisfied.

For that day, at least.

He turned to leave before Gladys had a chance to go in for a hug.

*****

He was quick, but Gladys was apparently quicker. Just as he turned he went from the Boy-Who-Lived to the Man-Whose-Arse-Was-Pinched. Her claw-like fingers had snatched forward like a striking snake just in time to latch onto his left cheek in a quick pinch before she settled back in her chair and continued to read her Witch Weekly column. She smiled innocently, despite her obvious leering at the pictures on the page.

*****

"Merlin's tits!" Harry yelped. He didn't turn around, though. That would give her too much satisfaction. No, he marched with as much dignity as he could muster to the owlry (arsecheek stinging all the while) to set up his appointment with Malfoy and request permission to access the restitution fund records. It would be easier for him if Malfoy was willing to meet at his office but Harry offered to return to his residence if he'd rather. Now that he'd been there once, he could apparate directly to the front door, at least.

He watched the tawny owl glide through the window and idly wondered if Malfoy would still be in his pyjamas when it arrived. He then gave himself a mental shake. He had no business thinking about Malfoy in his pyjamas...even if the penguins sliding on their bellies and having tiny snowball fights were kind of cute. And Malfoy without a shirt was-- _No. Bad, Harry!_

Checking the time and seeing it was close to five, he decided to head home for the day (without bidding Ron a goodnight. Wanker).

He needed a drink.

oo00oo00oo

Draco was at his office desk when a familiar "tap tap tap" at the window caught his attention. He was having a bit of writer's block, so at the sound of a tiny, feathered visitor he smiled and thanked the bird silently for the momentary reprieve from work (even if his next book was due in a month and he had hardly finished the first chapter.)

The arched window opened to admit the bird who dropped to his desk just outside his scattered parchment and quills with a hoot, sticking its leg out. Draco noted the seal of the Ministry hanging from a small badge around its neck and chuckled.

_Potter, then. Who else would owl me from the Ministry these days?_

"Treats are on the mantle," he said dismissively as he untied the attached note. The bird ruffled itself. "If you need water there is a fountain outside."

...

_... He wants access to the restitution records? Is this part of his investigation? Then again, why else would he even need it?_

The note was short and to the point and the piece of parchment was much longer than necessary, so the blonde merely decided to pen his reply just below on the same piece.

_Potter,_  
_You have my complete permission to explore whatever avenues you need. If you require further written consent with the official Malfoy seal attached that can also be provided. However, as to your mention of my visiting your office... I suppose I wouldn't mind, on a few conditions:_

_1\. You are to escort me at all times. No offense to your colleagues, but I am very much an unwanted presence at your station of work. I understand that the lobby is the only place one may Apparate to and I will arrive at an appropriate time. Do you still wish for our meeting to be tomorrow or later this evening?_

_2\. I am to be given a full tour of your office. My curiosity as to your current work settings has expanded since our previous two meetings and I would like to satisfy it._

_3\. I am still well-practiced at Occlumency. I can handle a pensieve and the transferring of memories myself. There is no need for additional witnesses, unless you require them for legal purposes._

_4\. If we are meeting later this evening I will require strong tea and a chocolate chip biscuit._

_5\. If we are meeting tomorrow I may not need the tea, but you should still bring the biscuit. I really should go shopping for some..._

_6\. Lastly, I would rather my presence not be announced before hand. I don't want anyone having the chance to set up traps._

_DM_

"That should do it," he murmured to himself as the owl finished stuffing its beak. He blew gently on the ink to ensure it was dry before rolling the parchment and tying it back around the owl's leg. The arched window was securely locked after the bird's departure. 

"... Maybe it wouldn't be so bad getting out a little, even if it is to the Ministry..." He sighed as he stared out the glass and across the expansive backyard. His home was small, especially when compared to the Manor, but the yard was still big and covered in thousands of wild flowers and berries. He never bothered with lawn work--just content to let it all go wild. A small smile graced his lips as he leaned into the window and sighed. 

"Or maybe I should start with small steps and go frolicking out there like some love-sick Hufflepuff. Heh."

*****

Harry was just sitting down to dinner (two day old takeaway curry and a tumbler full of Ogden's) when the Ministry owl rapped on his living room window. He admitted it with a spell.

Taking the parchment it bore in exchange for a bit of rice, he settled back in his chair and looked over Malfoy's reply. He was surprised Malfoy had agreed to come to the Ministry, though of course he had a long list of terms and conditions to do so. _A chocolate chip biscuit? Really?_ Harry rolled his eyes (oddly charmed).

He briefly considered Malfoy's offer of visiting that evening but he was already home for the day. They would have to wait until tomorrow morning...or afternoon given the man's demanding sleep schedule.

He summoned a quill to write his response.

_Malfoy,_   
_I appreciate your prompt reply and your cooperation with this investigation. If you could please send your authorization directly to the DMLE Records Department with the family seal, that would expedite things on my end._   
_I am no longer in the office so we will have to delay our meeting until tomorrow. Is 12:00 ok?_   
_Your terms are fine._

He wasn't certain how to sign it. Ordinarily, he would use 'Auror Potter' but that seemed overly formal. On the other hand, 'Harry' was way too friendly.

It would have to be just 'Potter,' then. Like always.

Once the owl was on its way, Harry shoveled a bite of curry (gone cold) into his mouth and picked up his book-- _Too Hot To Handle_ \--where he'd left off. 

He was enjoying this one. The protagonist was a demanding and driven restauranteur, considered by many to be a culinary genius, but his exacting standards and abrasive personality meant he had a high rate of turnover in his kitchen...as well as in his bedroom. That is, until a plucky and intrepid young food critic had the audacity to write a mediocre review, which earned him the attention and ire of the chef. The chemistry between them was as hot and spicy as Harry's curry--they traded insults like they were declarations of love and were as likely to steal away to the walk-in refrigerator for a snog as they were to have a shouting match in the middle of the restaurant. It was unconventional, sure, but it was interesting and Harry was totally hooked.

His (nonexistent) love life was boring and passionless. He'd never had a lover who made him feel the kind of energy and excitement Morias's men kindled in each other, someone who challenged and enticed him to the point that he had to have the person right then and there.

Maybe that was just fiction, a fanciful notion that promoted book sales.

He hoped not.

His wandering mind came back to Malfoy. Harry could just picture him insulting a poor, cowering sous chef until the girl broke down in tears. Could see him smirking haughtily as his restaurant earned its third Michelin star. Trailing warm chocolate sauce down his--

_Wait. Nope. Nuh uh. Hard stop._

He took a large swallow of whiskey and let the burn clear his mind. He was only thinking about Malfoy because of the case. That was it. His brain just got confused, is all.

*****

It was after dark when the owl returned bearing Potter's response. Draco was in the middle of dinner; nothing too fancy, just a meal of random veggies and a chicken cooked in thick, white wine sauce. He had just stuffed another slice into his mouth when the owl surprised him. He quirked a brow and stood from his dining room to allow the bird in, this time through his kitchen window. The poor thing seemed tired now... Did Potter live terribly far from him? Or did the Ministry just over work their birds? Either way, he offered the ruffled creature a perch and some chicken and peas before unrolling the scroll.

He sighed.

"Noon, really?" He whined petulantly to himself. "Ugh, whatever... Maybe most of the staff will be on lunch break by then anyway."

So, after penning his approval and after letting the bird rest for a solid ten minutes at least, he sent his response back, finished his meal, and went off to bed--gently biting the nail of his thumb. His brows furrowed with worry and his heart was already beating a little too fast at the idea of visiting the Ministry.

After all, a private gathering of pure-bloods was one thing... Going to the place where almost half of Wizarding London (and then some) worked was entirely another. But he was determined to show Potter he could handle it, at least to some degree. Real men don't want other men who acted like cowards, after all.


	4. The Pensieve

The next day, Draco arrived at the Ministry exactly on time--the clock was just chiming noon in the lobby. Despite the clawing fear and the racing of his thoughts he schooled his features into a confident smirk and looked for his escort. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his knee-length coat to hide how much they shook. It wasn't terribly cool that day (actually, it was nearly blistering), but certain standards required certain dress codes. Coming to the Ministry meant he would need something to hide himself in, so to speak, in case he needed to, in fact, hide... Like his hands. Or the occasional leap of his chest at random noises.

*****

Harry waited for Malfoy at the Welcome Witch's station, figuring that would be the best place to find him since they had neglected to arrange a meeting spot beforehand.

Soon enough, Malfoy approached--wearing an overly-warm coat and a hunted expression. Harry nodded in greeting and waved Malfoy on past the station (he'd already signed him in as an approved visitor and arranged for him to be able to keep his wand, thinking that would help him to feel more secure). He fell into step beside the unusually quiet man and silently offered him a brown paper bag--containing one chocolate chunk biscuit from the cafe, as requested--and a paper cup steaming with strong black tea (because he was feeling generous) and led them to the Lifts.

*****

Draco was just thankful Potter was easy to find. As soon as he saw the familiar tuft of black hair, the Slytherin practically darted across the floor toward him (without jogging or running and while somehow maintaining as casual an air as he could.) Once he was side-by-side with the Auror, he was being led toward the back of the lobby where a number of lifts were waiting. He happily took his biscuit and tea, instantly looking at least ten degrees happier, and sidled up close to Potter (without touching) as they approached and entered a small lift.

Draco took a long sip of his tea, nearly burning his tongue in the process (but his nerves were so shot he hardly noticed.) He grinned at Potter and held his tea out to him indicating he should hold it. Once it was taken did he have both hands free to dig into his paper bag for the treat.

"You don't look half bad in full uniform, Potter. Nice boots," he nodded to the dragonhide on the Auror's feet that reached half-way up his calves.

*****

Harry stamped out the small thrill he felt at Malfoy's (sort-of) compliment. "Thanks," he said off-handedly, pressing the button for Level Two. "And thank you for meeting me here today. I've been looking over the names of those who applied for restitution from your family and cross referencing them against anyone who might hold a grudge against _you_ specifically to create a possible suspect list. Once I get a good look at your attacker in the pensieve, it should be a relatively simple matter to whittle down the results by physical description." Unless, of course, the individual was clever enough to use polyjuice or a glamour. But Malfoy didn't need to hear anything so discouraging; it was clear that he was having a hard enough time just being in the Ministry, despite his casual mien.

Harry lounged against the wall of the Lift and eyed Malfoy surreptitiously--he appeared to be enjoying his biscuit, but his hands shook ever-so-slightly and his startle reflex was high (never mind the fact he was hiding under a heavy winter coat even though the weather was fair). Harry wondered why he'd agreed to come when it was obviously so stressful for him. Could it really be so simple as curiosity about Harry's workspace?

That didn't seem likely, unless Malfoy was bored out of his mind being cooped up at home. Which could be--

Malfoy licked a smudge of chocolate off his thumb and Harry lost his train of thought.

*****

It wasn't just his thumb. The biscuit was decorated with a generous amount of chocolate, and by the time he was half-way through each of Draco's fingers were dotted in dark-brown. There was even a smudge on his upper-lip.

Concentrating on his food, and the fact that it was such a rich chocolate, definitely had a relaxing effect. He sucked on his thumb and then practically fellated his own middle digit. He placed the rest of the cookie into the bag, to save for later, and then proceeded to clean his fingers--not noticing the spot on his lip.

*****

_Mother of Merlin._

Harry hastily looked away, gulping nervously. Malfoy seemed totally oblivious to the show he was putting on (and the effect it was having on him).

_Has the Lift always been this slow?! Godrick!_

He breathed an audible sigh of relief when Malfoy put the damnable biscuit away. A minute later, the Lift announced their arrival at the DMLE.

"This way, Malfoy," he said brusquely. "My office is at the end of the hall. The pensieve is set up already."

*****

Draco wiped his mouth off with the one available napkin Potter had managed to grab him with the biscuit and ran it over his hands to make certain they were clean. He took his tea back from Potter before they began their trek from the lifts to wherever the Auror's office was. The Slytherin Prince was oddly quiet, though it could have been his frayed nerves. He put the cup into a passing receptacle after a long swig (it burped) before he lifted his hands to cross over his arms--like a loose hug with himself--and obediently followed. He nodded jerkily at the mention of the pensieve.

Only once they'd arrived and the door was firmly shut and locked did Draco's arms fall and the blonde finally began to unbutton his large coat. Beneath he wore a nearly skin-tight, short-sleeved, half-zip shirt and a pair of brown trousers. The knee-length white boots he had at the wedding were now black (or he had an exact copy in black) and seemed to make him look taller, or at least make his calves look longer. He sighed and clapped his hands together.

"All right. I'll extract the memory and you can just stand there looking pretty. Okay, Potter?" he said with a cheesy wink.

*****

Harry decided that he might need to take a break from Morias. Those books were doing things to his head; things that blurred professional lines and made it hard for him to concentrate (and had him wishing Malfoy would put his stupid coat back on).

And Malfoy's continuous flirty little comments weren't helping matters. What was the point of them anyway? Was he trying to make Harry squirm? (If so--success!)

Wondering where Ron was, Harry acknowledged Malfoy's heckling with a wave of his hand and hovered by the basin of the pensieve.

*****

Despite being such a homebody these days, Draco had managed to keep his muscles intact. In fact, he'd filled out rather nicely since school. He rolled his shoulders and rubbed his neck as he took his wand from a thigh holster on his trousers and approached the small, stone bowl. It sat on Potter's desk.

The process, to those unfamiliar with it, appeared rather simple. He closed his eyes, tapped his wand on his temple, and dragged what appeared to be liquid (or gas?) away like a string before quickly depositing it into the bowl. Taking a memory required a lot of concentration, and not just on finding the memory and creating it into some form of "solid", but also on holding that memory while casting the magic to pull it out. Once it was in the bowl, Draco took a step back and waved at it in invitation.

"Have at, Potter. Just... don't take it the wrong way."

*****

Malfoy's wiry muscles shifted and flexed beneath his painted-on shirt as he went though the motions of withdrawing the memory. Harry tried focusing on his face, which remained serene even through the intense concentration needed to perform the spell. The only other person he'd ever seen remove a memory with that much finesse was Dumbledore. He was reluctantly impressed.

Malfoy released the silver wisp into the pensieve and made yet another confounding statement.

_'Don't take it the wrong way'? What's that supposed to mean?_

Harry's brow furrowed. After all of Malfoy's arch compliments and teasing come-ons, _now_ there was something he might interpret incorrectly? What did that mean for the other things, then? There could be no telling until he saw the memory.

Malfoy looked like he intended for Harry to go alone. That wasn't going to happen, at least not without Ron in the office. Harry didn't think Malfoy would try to hurt him while he was occupied with the memory (which was rather surprising to realize), but the Slytherin couldn't be given the opportunity to snoop with so much confidential and classified information laying around.

"Come with me," he directed, nodding toward the basin. "Two pairs of eyes are better than one and it will be helpful for the memory to be fresh in your mind if I have any follow-up questions for you. I have a calming draught in my desk if you need," he added as an afterthought.

*****

Draco stared at Potter for a long moment as he considered the request (demand?) with trepidation. It wasn't just the attack itself that made him nervous about entering the memory with the Auror; there was something in there that he was certain would screw up whatever tentative association was forming between them.

The blonde turned away to peer around the office, which was practically bare beyond a calendar on the wall and a poster of the Chudley Canons. Potter's desk had a few trinkets, but nothing spectacular. The other desk just a foot or so away, had a signed snitch, a number of strange little objects (toys from Weasley Wizard Wheezes?), and the chair had a Chudley Canons colored cover. He smirked to himself as he already knew who Potter's partner was. Apparently becoming a husband and father hadn't totally matured Weasley. 

Once he was certain he could, Draco turned back to the raven-haired man and nodded.

"I'll take the draught. A little now and the rest after... If I have too much now I may not be so clear-headed. Those things always make me feel kind of high."

*****

Harry nodded and walked around his desk to retrieve the potion out of a locked and warded drawer underneath. He didn't think less of Malfoy for requesting it. The memory would be hard on him, he knew. He also knew how unsettling the whole experience was for him. (And it would be a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, given that Harry kept the draught in his office for his own personal use; Auror work could be…unpleasant, at times.)

"This will be a tremendous help to the investigation," he said reassuringly, passing the opaque bottle to Malfoy. "And I won't dillydally in your memory--we should only have to watch it once." Harry didn't have a perfect memory, but his mind did a good job of honing in on the relevant details and retaining them well enough to develop a good general picture of a crime scene.

Malfoy held the bottle to his lips and tipped his head back to drink. Harry averted his eyes, finding the pale column of his throat entirely too distracting. "I'm ready when you are," he declared, gazing into the swirling surface of the pensieve with no small amount of unease.

*****

Once a good gulp or two of the potion was slithering down to his gullet, Draco set the bottle aside and sighed--smacking his lips and tongue at the weird taste. After a second, his nerves seemed to calm (though not as completely as they would have with the full dose) and he nodded.

"Let's get this over with," he mumbled through a grimace. "The sooner I embarrass myself the sooner I can go."

They sank together into the wisps of his memory. It had been a while since Draco last went diving into a pensieve, and the odd feeling of drowning as his consciousness slipped away was no different. He blinked at the bright, flashing lights of the club. They stood near the edge of what was practically a mosh pit (with more hip gyrating); not far from three familiar faces.

Pansy was wearing a dress almost to her knickers and heels that looked almost a foot high. Blaise was wearing a ridiculous jester hat that someone had stuffed onto his dome. And then, there was Draco: short hair, loose top, dragon leather pants, and half-gloves. They glowed and changed colors under the lights and bumped into each other and every body that came close. Pansy wrapped herself around a random bloke who happened to catch her fancy and he dragged her off. Blaise was talking up a small group of females, as charming as ever. Draco, abandoned, deigned to leave the stage. His footing was somewhat off (he was buzzed and exhausted) when, just as he reached the edge of the floor... A young man with ruffled black hair, large spectacles, and green eyes approached.

Draco, the one viewing the memory, tensed up as his past self gave a brilliant smile and switched from plainly tired to flirtatious and happily surprised. Both their eyes darted to the man's obvious attempt to hide something at his side as he so sweetly smiled back. The blonde nearly hid as his past self went wide-eyed from the hateful declaration that immediately followed and grabbed the stranger's arm just in time to avoid the needle being stabbed into his neck or shoulder.

Draco couldn't watch. He already knew quite well what happened. He turned just as the struggle for freedom and the needle ensued and his past self was slammed into a dance cage (the Go-Go dancer inside shrieked.) After a well-rounded kick to the man's genitals and a jerk of his hands to take the needle, the stranger left and Draco breathed heavily--his leather-bound hand gripping the syringe.

*****

It took Harry a minute to adjust to the strobing lights and thumping base of the club after his disorienting fall into Malfoy's memory. He grounded himself quickly for the sake of the nervous presence to his left and followed Malfoy's line of sight to the Slytherin Trio drinking and dancing on the raised dais of the central floor.

Zabini, wearing a ridiculous hat, drifted off to charm a gaggle of witches. Parkinson, wearing an equally ridiculous 'dress', departed with her tongue in some bloke's ear, abandoning Malfoy to his own devices.

Without his sidekicks, past-Malfoy no longer appeared to be having a good time, though he certainly was dressed for one (Merlin did he cut an impressive figure in his leather trousers). He looked more like the Malfoy Harry remembered: cool, confident, and condescending. If Harry was being truly honest with himself, he might call this Malfoy 'sex personified,' even with obvious boredom and fatigue dulling his luster.

When a young, dark-haired man approached a moment later, the brilliant smile Malfoy flashed transformed his face completely. Harry's stomach swooped just as a bystander of that smile. When he recognized the man, however, the bottom of his stomach dropped out entirely.

It was him.

Not just someone who looked like Harry, that was Harry. A younger polyjuiced version.

His mind raced. That was why Malfoy had warned him. And why he'd been acting strangely. Two years ago someone had tricked him into dropping his guard by looking like Harry and offering a friendly smile. Malfoy had reacted to that simple gesture as if it was sunlight after a long winter storm. And that had nearly gotten him killed.

Harry glanced quickly at the Malfoy by his side--he'd closed his eyes. He turned back to the dance floor in time to see the disguised assailant swing with the syringe, but past-Malfoy was quick enough to spot and sidestep the clumsy attempt. He disarmed the attacker with the same fluid grace he'd displayed at the wedding and stared, wide-eyed and shaken, at the unfamiliar weapon. That was when the would-be assassin made his escape, easily lost in the press of bodies.

Harry was vaguely offended at Malfoy calling him weak and scrawny earlier. He was small, sure, but he wasn't weak. Malfoy had been able to disarm his attacker so easily because the person moved with the characteristic lack of coordination of someone with a drastically different body type than the polyjuiced individual. If Harry had to guess, he'd say the assailant was a tall, broad, and burly male. He also knew Malfoy very well, or had paid off someone who did, given that he knew where Malfoy's unexpected interests laid.

...Did they still?

He was ejected from the pensieve before he could so much as look at the man.

Feeling more dizzy than the pensieve use alone could account for, Harry ran a hand through his hair and asked the first (professional) question that came to his mind--

"How did you know it wasn't really me?"

*****

The memory thankfully ended, and none too soon. They were dragged back to the present where Draco made a show of shaking himself out, as if exiting a pool or warding off a chill. He scrubbed a hand through his long, blonde coiffure (already disheveled from when he grabbed at it during the memory without notice.)

Draco grabbed what was left of the drought from the desk and downed it like a professional. He dropped the bottle back onto the Auror's work space and took a few slow steps back.

"Hm? Oh... Well, about half a second after--" _practically throwing fake-Potter a pair of cow eyes_ , "I realized that Harry Potter would never smile at me. That, and I was twenty-two which meant _you_ were twenty-two... And that guy looked all of seventeen."

_That, and the way he stood was wrong. As was the way he tilted his head. The green of his eyes seemed dim, despite the bright lights..._

"Just basic logic, really."

*****

Malfoy was trying to play it cool. Speaking to Harry as if he wasn't Harry, just some Auror.

Like he wasn't embarrassed, upset, and on the verge of panic.

_This must be so hard for him._

It wasn't exactly a walk in the park for Harry, either. He was trying to be a good little Auror and solve the case for his ex-arch nemesis (/current confusing wank fantasy). He'd had one too many unexpected revelations to be a perfectly buttoned-up professional, however.

"Grab a seat," he prompted, gesturing to the visitors' couch along one wall of the sparsely furnished office. He then opened the same drawer that formerly housed his calming draught and produced a silver flask--his best man gift from Ron. "I'd offer you some," he apologized, unscrewing the cap, "but you aren't supposed to mix potions and alcohol."

He took a long swallow and plopped into his seat, swiveling around to prop his feet up on his desk. (If his body posture was relaxed, maybe he'd stop feeling so bloody tense. That was the idea, anyway.)

Finally letting his eyes settle on Malfoy, he gently inquired, "Can you tell me who all might have known that that _particular_ disguise would be effective?"

*****

Draco plopped onto the proffered seat as soon as the invitation was given. His head fell back and he closed his eyes, leaving the long column of his pale neck exposed. He took a slow, deep breath. Normally, if things had been normal, the blonde might have considered commenting on the plebian way Potter settled himself into his desk, but proper posture was not on his current list of cares.

 _Listen to him... Playing it oh-so-casual... Like I wasn't practically drooling at him in the memory--excited and mooning over his fake_ , he thought, like the scene had lasted an embarrassing hour versus a few small moments.

He didn't speak up for a long time. It took a while for him to gather the courage to find his voice. In the mean time, he had allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of flight through sudden, happy calm.

"Mm," he murmured through a sigh. "Who knew I was bent? Everyone, of course. Not like I ever hid it."

Of course, he knew quite well what the Auror referred too. He just wanted to see if he could get Potter to voice it for him.

*****

Malfoy sprawled on the sofa like he was seriously considering a nap. The potion must be working, then. (It was a good one. Brewed by Hermione herself. She kept her boys well stocked in emergency supplies that could easily be picked up at the first aid station, but then they'd have to actually go to the first aid station and fill out paper work and make do with an inferior draught and that just wouldn't do.) Malfoy didn't even bother opening his eyes to answer.

Given his languor, Harry wasn't sure if the man had intentionally misunderstood him or if he was sincere in his reply. Either way, he'd have to rephrase his question. He took another large swallow of firewhiskey first.

"Be that as it may," he responded dryly, "I can't imagine many people would have been privy to the fact you had a soft spot for your infamous rival." It was news to him, certainly. "That gossip would have spread like wildfire. Unless you Slytherins are more loyal than I ever gave you credit for..."

*****

Draco snorted, both for the "infamous" comment and for the jab at Slytherin loyalty, before cocking a grin and slowly turning his head to face the Auror once more. He opened one silver eye lazily.

"Ohhh... You mean who knew I was gay for that one heroing arsehole I used to know back in school? Only a few. Vincent, Gregory, Pansy, Blaise, and Severus."

Draco closed his eye again and returned to his impersonation of a limp doll.

*****

Godrick's knob, Harry shouldn't have let Malfoy have the rest of that potion. He was flip enough without it lowering his inhibitions.

At least the git had closed his eyes before the shock of what he'd said registered on Harry's face.

( _And he'd used the past tense exclusively. Did that mean he wasn't still--_

 _Shit, Harry, get a grip!_ )

He dragged his palm down over his nose and mouth and gave in to the impulse to groan since it would be muffled. Malfoy looked fucking... _what was the word?_ Ravishing all laid out and loose. Harry folded both hands tightly in his lap and focused on the important details of what the man had said.

Snape and Crabbe were easily eliminated from the suspect pool, being dead and all. Zabini and Parkinson had good potential as accomplices since they'd both abandoned Malfoy right before the attack. Goyle was a wildcard.

...a wildcard who fit the physical description he had surmised for the suspect!

Heart rate picking up in response to the tingle at the back of his neck telling him he was on to something, Harry dropped his feet to the ground and leaned forward in the chair.

"What is your relationship with Zabini, Parkinson, and Goyle like these days? Have any of them acted differently toward you since the incident? What about leading up to it? Whose idea was it to go to that club?"

The rapid burst of questions wasn't how a victim/witness interview was supposed to go, but he was too excited to care.

*****

The draught worked wonderfully. Draco's body had no immunity to the potion, having avoided the stuff nearly all his life, and the result was obvious. He stretched himself out in a style reminiscent to the time Potter had come to visit: arms sliding above his head (his tight shirt riding up), legs spreading out with toes straightening, and his back arching high. After the stretch, he leaned forward and pinned the Auror with a sultry smile.

"Can't we change the subject? Maybe to what our relationship should be?" he said with a seductive, if slightly slurred, chuckle. He sat up carefully and leaned his hands into the cushions of he couch.

"Have you ever been given a blowjob at work? I bet you have, you naughty man of Wizarding law!"

*****

Harry's face flamed.

So much for his 30 whole seconds of thinking exclusively work-appropriate thoughts.

If he had been merciless before in stomping out the thrill he felt at Malfoy's compliment, he was downright savage to his eagerly responsive libido just then.

Malfoy was a victim. Malfoy was intoxicated. Malfoy was fucking **Malfoy** , he reasoned.

If anything was going to happen between them (and that was a big bloody _if_ ), it would not happen in the middle of an investigation, in the office Harry shared with his best mate, while Malfoy was basically stoned.

"You've had an exhausting and emotionally-trying morning," he responded, as reasonably as he could manage. "Let's get you home so you can sleep it off."

*****

Draco ran his hands through his hair until the locks at least felt straight, acting as if he hadn't asked anything strange. He blinked when Potter finally responded and turned back to the blushing Auror with a grin that could rival the Cheshire Cat's.

"No? Really? Are you just not that adventurous or have you not had someone long enough to experiment with?"

He laid back across the visitor's couch with his legs bent, one curling over the edge of the couch with his foot on the floor and the other pressing into the back--leaving his legs wide open. He laughed.

"Not even a quick shag on the couch? Maybe a bit of groping?" He asked as he slid his hands over his thighs... He began a series of pornographic moans. "Oh, Auror Potter! Your office is so big!"

He laughed heartily.

"Well, you're young... Or you just don't have a kink for public sex. Do you even have any kinks?"

*****

Harry's prick began to take more than a passing interest in Malfoy's antics. He ignored it (as he did the majority of the time it tried causing trouble).

"This is a conversation we can have later," he said firmly, hoping that if he didn't shut the topic down completely, Malfoy might be more likely to comply. " _After_ you've slept off that draught and we're no longer in the place where I work."

Malfoy appeared content to continue laying (and writhing) on the couch, so Harry rose from his seat to urge him up and out. He couldn't turn him loose in the Ministry like that, though. Really, Malfoy shouldn't even apparate in the condition he was in. Harry would have to get him home.

"Come on," he prompted, holding out his hand. "Up you get."

*****

Draco made a noise of protest, a whine perhaps, at the idea of having to get up from the couch. He was tired and content, and more than ready to take a nap right there on the lumpy sofa. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to see Potter hovering over him with a hand outstretched. He frowned and narrowed his eyes at the man like an angry child... Until he developed an idea. He sighed, as if in defeat, then--fast as a snake--grabbed Potter's hand and jerked him down to the couch. In the same motion he rolled them over so that he was laying on top of the Auror.

But then he calmed once again. There was no inappropriate touching or questions once he had Potter on the couch. No, he was perfectly happy just to make himself comfortable between his legs and on his chest, laying his head down on the Auror's shoulder. His breathing began to slow indicating he was falling asleep.

*****

You would think that after all of his dealings with Gladys, Harry would know better than to be caught flat footed by a would-be paramour. He allowed himself one moment of indulgent self-pity--he had a warm, willing, interesting, and attractive man on top of him, and honor demanded that he extricate himself post-haste.

"Malfoy," he prodded verbally (keeping his hands respectfully to himself). "Malfoy, wake up!" No answer...except that Malfoy snuggled in harder. Harry sighed heavily. "If you do not get up this instant, I will dump you on the floor," he threatened.

He meant it.

*****

Draco grumbled something unintelligible as he forced himself to get up, though he did so slowly. He raised himself onto his hands and knees over the Auror with great difficulty (he had been exceptionally comfortable) and stared down at Potter while still sidled between his legs. He pouted at him.

"You know, if you weren't so straight you'd make a great pillow," he replied, thinking the discomfort Potter displayed was due to some sort of homophobia. He stared down at the man for a few seconds longer to note the slight flush of Potter's cheeks (which was almost cute, except cute was a term that could no longer apply to such a manly looking Auror) and the warning frown etched across his face.

He was tempted to kiss Potter until he had no choice but to smile... Unfortunately, Draco--even in his addled state--knew what a horrible idea that would be.

*****

For the span of a half dozen panicked heartbeats, Harry thought Malfoy was going to kiss him. He'd raised himself up onto his arms and stared down at him with a mischievous glint to his eyes, and Harry, for all that he was determined not to take advantage, couldn't find it in himself to breathe one word of protest. It was with an unsettling mix of relief and disappointment that he got up after Malfoy finally released him.

"I'm not as straight as you think I am," he muttered under his breath, smoothing out his robes and assuming Malfoy was too far gone to hear or understand him.

*****

They stood from the couch, Draco somehow retaining his grace and hardly even wobbling, and then Potter suddenly had a new scarf. The blonde had moved to hug his neck and press into the front of his body.

"All right, take me home," he breathed into the Auror's ear as he settled, as if to nap exactly where he was--upright and leaning his weight into the Gryffindor. "I'll get my coat later. I don't need it right now anyway... Do we have to go to the lobby again? You'll protect me, right?"

*****

There was a Floo in Robards's office for emergencies. Harry decided this counted. There was no way he was going to drag Malfoy through the Atrium when everyone was just getting back from lunch. Malfoy's skin was hot to the touch and his hair smelled like green apples and Harry's formidable resolve was slipping. ( _Malfoy had told him to take him home, for crying out loud! All breathless and sexy and right in Harry's ear._ )

He shuffled Malfoy around until he was draped over one shoulder and they were facing the same direction. He propped the boneless tempter up with an arm about his waist. He then cast a disillusionment charm on the both of them and half marched, half dragged Malfoy to the Head Auror's office.

Fortunately, the department was virtually empty at that time of day so Harry didn't have to explain the absurd predicament he found himself in. He leaned Malfoy up against Robards's mantle and took a pinch of Floo powder from the silver dish.

Without knowing an address for Malfoy's house, and seeing no better options at present, he tossed the powder into the flames and called out, "Number 12 Grimmauld Place."

*****

Draco leaned back against the mantle as prompted. He smiled at Potter from his position next to the fire, with his arms crossed loosely over his stomach as he watched the Auror work the floo.

"You know," it was practically a purr, "you are incredibly good looking. But I bet your fans remind you of that all the time. The last time someone told me that was probably last year, when I came out for the Winter Gala and this reporter from Witch Weekly begged for an interview... And something about a photo shoot. If it was anything like what Longbottom did, I'm kind of sad I said no. Been a while since someone other than Pansy or Blaise wanted to see me naked, or close to. How about you? Get laid often?"

*****

Harry all but tossed Malfoy into the Floo and followed close behind.

He steadied them both on his hearth on the other side. "New rule," he said tightly, striding into the middle of the sitting room to put distance between him and Malfoy (who he was now picturing in his pants, staring solemnly at nothing in particular, the way Neville had done), "no more talking until after you've slept. There's the couch," he indicated with a firm point, "make yourself comfortable. I'm going to go start some tea."

He was almost to the door when he added gruffly, "No snooping."

With that he turned with an attempt to flee.

*****

Draco grunted as he fell onto an unfamiliar couch. It was soft and smelled of Potter, which meant he was instantly at ease as he moved to sit up on the cushion and slowly drag himself across it. He plopped onto his back and grabbed the hem of his shirt, which he pulled above his head and tossed absently at the Auror--who he hadn't noticed leave the room. His hands went to address his boots next, both legs lifting to hang over his head to make access to the buckles easier. He preferred a lot less dress when he slept.

"I'll tell you what," the blonde began in a tired, though loud slur. "I'll not speak until after I wake up... If you'll help me get my boots off. I love these, but they take forever to undo."

*****

"You're on your own!" Harry shouted from the hall. He couldn't get away fast enough. Dear Merlin, he hoped Malfoy still had his trousers on when he returned. (Mostly, anyway.) Maybe he shouldn't come back. With as loopy as Malfoy was, he'd probably just sleep. How much trouble could he get into before the potion wore off?

Too much, he realized with a frown. He hadn't expected company. Especially not such questionable company. There were all manner of sensitive and/or embarrassing things lying around in the general state of disorderly chaos in which he existed (dirty clothes, empty take away containers, scribbled case notes). But he lived alone and hadn't had a steady girlfriend in years--the mess didn't bother him so he saw no point in cleaning. Kreacher picked up a bit when he stopped by on the weekends, but otherwise spent his days at Hogwarts and Harry did a good job of undermining his efforts when he was gone.

He did some hasty straightening on his way to the kitchen to fetch tea. He wasn't going to give Malfoy the grand tour or anything, but neither did the man need to see his pants laying on the ground.

...Except that he wanted to, apparently. And wasn't that a shock.

Harry went through the motions of making tea while he struggled to process this information and figure out just what he was going to do about it. It would be a lie to say he wasn't interested, but he wasn't entirely comfortable with that interest, either. And who knew how Malfoy would feel about everything once the potion wore off.

Fretfully, Harry carried the tea service back upstairs and found Malfoy where he'd left him--shirtless and bootless, but still in trousers, at least. He appeared to be asleep, so Harry settled quietly into one of the chairs and blew across the surface of his tea to cool it, contemplating the strange, maddening, sexy man before him.


	5. Revelations

It was a couple of hours later when Draco finally awoke.

At first his memory seemed blurred, his mind sluggish. It took a solid minute of blinking his grey eyes and taking a cursory look around to remember he wasn't home... That the last place he had been was the Ministry, with Potter. He loosed a deep yawn as he moved to straighten himself on the foreign (though surprisingly comfy) couch.

_Oh, that's right. Apparently Potter took me home._

Speaking of, Potter sat right across from Draco in an equally comfortable looking seat of a different colour (chocolate brown and pale gold, respectively). In fact, everything in the sitting room was colourful and mismatched, but in a purposeful fashion.

Draco smiled to himself as he decided it suited the hero rather well to have such an...eclectic arrangement of furniture.

******

"Morning sunshine," Harry greeted sardonically as Malfoy yawned and stretched and slowly blinked himself to wakefulness (so much like a contented cat).

Outside, the sun was low in the sky and the light filtering in through the open window was the warm orange of late afternoon. Harry was surrounded by the leftovers of his tea, crumpled up balls of parchment, and the notepad on which he'd been jotting notes and guesses. The time had been good for his mental clarity, as he assumed--or hoped--it was for Malfoy's. (The man had not been exaggerating when he said that calming draughts hit him hard.)

"Feeling better?" Translation: _Are you going to attempt to molest me and/or pepper me with inappropriate questions?_

 ******

Draco smirked at the Auror and winked, meeting Potter's sarcasm with coquettish teasing. "I think I could get used to waking up with you as the first thing I see," he noted wryly. He took a nice, deep breath and slung his legs over the couch.

"So, where are we?" (Draco decided to ask outright to confirm his suspicion rather than sit and wonder.) "And why aren't we naked and in your bed instead?"

 ******

The irreverent question, coupled with Malfoy's sultry drawl and trademark smirk, hit Harry like a punch of lust straight to the gut. Apparently what he had mistaken as the effects of the potion were actually just...Malfoy.

There went his peace and focus.

He closed his eyes for a second and exhaled heavily, biting his lip against the snappy response he wanted to give-- _Who needs a bed?_

"I am not in the habit of sleeping with individuals who are part of an ongoing investigation," he answered, fixing Malfoy with a serious expression. He was reminding himself just as much as the irrepressible tease, however. "Nor would I take advantage of someone who is emotionally compromised or under the influence of a potion. If you aren't in the mood to discuss your case, you can apparate or Floo home from here. In the meantime, I will continue trying to do my job."

He lifted his quill and notepad like a sword and shield and regarded Malfoy over the top of them. He was proud of himself for sounding so professional when his id was screaming at him to pin his house guest to the couch and answer Malfoy's incessant flirting with all the pent-up sexual frustration of the last few days (which was causing his left eye to twitch and his trousers to feel rather too small at the moment).

 ******

"I don't believe I am under the influence of any potions at present," Draco said as he mentally shrugged off the sting of rejection (not that he expected Potter to take him up on the offer). "What was the last question you asked me? Something about my friends? Did it have to do with the memory?"

He set about gathering his things, first by slithering into his shirt again. It was so tight he had a moment's difficulty getting it over his shoulders before it slid into place and once again hugged his torso. He left his boots to the side for now, content to wiggle his toes (which had come free of his socks at some point) in the plush cream-coloured carpet. 

"Actually, before we continue... Where's the loo?"

 ******

Harry was relieved (mostly) that Malfoy was putting aside the flirting at last. The sooner he could make real headway on this investigation, the sooner he could...think about the conflictual feelings and urges the man stirred up in him. Or something. 

He was also relieved (not really, though) that Malfoy had put his abandoned shirt back on. He could still see every contour of the man's trim torso, but at least he wasn't being tempted by the creamy expanse of skin any longer. 

"Third door on the right," he answered, indicating the hallway with a careless toss of his head. He stared a second too long at Malfoy's sockless feet and wondered if he'd ever found bare feet sexy before that moment. Those feet--long, narrow, pale, and with a very high arch--were unusually captivating.

He put the nub of his quill between his teeth absently and flicked the tip with his tongue.

It was a poor substitute...

 ******

Draco nodded and stood from the couch, in that slow and lazy way he had adopted over the years. He playfully ruffled the Auror's hair as he passed on his way to the hall and hummed to himself as he exited, acting almost as if he was not only comfortable in the small mansion but _belonged_ there.

 _... Where is this again?_ He mused as he tried to recall the address Potter spoke into the Floo, but to no avail. _Guess it doesn't matter. For now_.

The trip to the loo was short. It didn't take long to arrive and finish his business, so with what he considered to be plenty of time left for one to be reasonably gone for the toilet, he decided to have a quick look around.The water closet often spoke volumes about a person, almost as much as the bedroom, after all.

_Let's see... Other than hangover remedies and more calming draught, not much to be seen in the cabinet... What about the tub?_

He pushed the curtain aside to take a look into Potter's shower. There was some soap, shampoo, a loofa... And a book. One Draco recognized. He grinned wide as he lifted the novel and peered at the cover.

 _He reads my books?_ His thoughts had taken on a somewhat breathy quality as his heart skittered excitedly. 

With an evil cackle, he left the loo with book in hand. He held it behind his back so Potter wouldn't see it at first, but when he was close enough he produced the glossy novel and chuckled, "Nice tub-side reading, straight man."

 ******

Harry gave an affronted gasp and yanked the book from Malfoy's thieving clutches, dumping everything off his lap as he stood. "I said no snooping," he scolded petulantly, holding the novel defensively to his chest. "You are such an entitled, infuriating prat! This is the thanks I get for letting you into my home? Ugh!"

He wasn't even sure how to untangle his feelings--offended, irritated, hurt, angry, infatuated--but they were all on his face. He could feel it.

 ******

Draco blinked in surprise as Potter grew intensely angry. He took a few steps back with his hands up on the defensive and eyes wide.

"Calm down! If I had known this would be the reaction I would have ignored the thing," he replied earnestly. "Are you _that_ embarrassed? ... Do you even know who Morias is?"

****** 

Harry attempted to rein in his anger upon seeing that Malfoy felt intimidated enough to back up. He still seethed, however. "I'm not embarrassed," he corrected through tightly-clenched teeth (which was a lie; he was totally embarrassed), "I'm pissed at you for going through my things. And why should I know who Morias is?"

 ******

"Well, I technically didn't go through your things, being as it was right out in the op--" Draco stopped short with a regretful grimace. "Right. I'm sorry. It was just nice that someone I knew liked that schmaltzy romantic drivel as much as I do, that's all." 

He sniffed, appraising Potter closely, carefully. 

"You really don't know? He went to Hogwarts with us. I thought the name would be a big clue."

 ******

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. Morias went to school with them? Why didn't he know him, then? It must be a penname. And Malfoy said it was a clue.

He glanced at the cover of Swept Away (pirate captain with a heart of gold--so cliched, but so good, anyway) and noted Morias's first name for the first time in a long while: Drachontas. The first time he'd seen it, he'd made fun of it for sounding like the Disney princess until Hermione set him straight about the pronunciation. It was Drac--

_No..._

_It couldn't be!_

Harry's head whipped up and he looked the question at Malfoy, feeling...well, rather lost at sea.

 ******

Draco chuckled as he walked around Potter with a certain sway in his hips on his way back to the couch. He didn't deny or accept the Auror's silent questioning, satisfied enough to know Potter was a fan. He sat back down with a little more dignity than usual and laid his elbows over the back of the piece of furniture.

With a quirk of one fine, pale brow he asked, "Well? Don't you have questions for me? Interrogate me, Auror Potter."

 ******

"Oh sure," Harry retorted archly, dropping down into his seat (unsure if his legs would have held him steady very much longer). " _Now_ you're all business."

Malfoy's smug countenance was all the confirmation he needed. No wonder he had taken such a keen interest in the man--he'd been fantasizing about him for more than a year without even realizing it.

Everything was going pear shaped. Not necessarily for the worse, just...unexpected.

Something else slotted into place in Harry's mind. Malfoy had admitted to fancying him as far back as school. Hermione thought the love interest in Prince Charming was a lot like him... Could it be that Malfoy had based some of his characters off of Harry?

It was a flattering, if somewhat overwhelming, thought.

He swallowed thickly. "Don't for one minute think we're done with this," he said warningly, holding up his dogeared book before setting it aside, "but I need to ask you all the questions I can about the case before you lose interest and go down another rabbit hole." He picked up his quill and notepad once again and leaned forward to do just that. 

But there was one pressing matter that required clarification first.

"For the record, the only one of us who keeps asserting my rigid heterosexuality is you."

 ******

_Oh really?_

That bold statement caused Draco's eyes to darken a shade and his smirk to blossom full-force, a sliver of teeth showed between his thin lips.

"Does that mean I might have a chance after all?" There was a little hope and playfulness (and a lot of indication) in his tone. He crossed his legs, prominently displaying one of his bare feet again as it hung just above the coffee table between them, and tilted his head. "Ask away. Before you jump me, I mean."

 ******

It was a herculean task to gather his thoughts--putting to rest all notions of jumping anyone or fixating on absurdly pretty feet--but Harry managed. His notepad helped considerably.

He did give Malfoy a small, bashful smile before asking him to describe his current relationships with Goyle, Parkinson, and Zabini, paying special attention to how they might have changed since the night of the attack, quill poised at the ready.

******

"Well, Pansy and I still frequent her favorite restaurant every other Tuesday... When she's in the country. And Blaise comes by to visit once a month. He's pants at wedding planning and his mother is on her fifth (maybe seventh?) husband. So he's been busier than normal, but that's understandable... Gregory, I haven't actually spoken to for years. We left on fairly decent, if not awkward terms. I mean, how do you salvage a friendship after... After what happened?"

Draco flinched at the memory of it. He couldn't reach Potter's eyes when he spoke about Greg.

"Last I heard he was on some trip around the world, though. Became rather interested in escaping London after the War."

******

Crabbe's death was as sure a motive for murder as anything if Goyle did in fact hold Malfoy responsible. Malfoy didn't seem to think so, but it was often difficult for individuals in the middle of a situation to properly assess it. Harry would have him brought in for questioning.

There was one missing piece to the puzzle, however.

"To your knowledge, do any of them have connections to the field of muggle medicine?" he pressed.

******

Draco snorted at the very idea of his friends being associated with anything even remotely muggle. He waved a dismissive hand.

"The only way Pansy or Blaise would ever be caught dabbling in the muggle is by being dead or stunned and therefore having no choice. Pansy works at St. Mungo's now as a Healer, or rather a Healer consultant, and Blaise is still happily unemployed and can often be found charming his way into the skirts and trousers of anyone he fancies all across Europe." He sighed sadly as he considered Gregory, though. He had no clue what the man had been up to the past seven years. Maybe he should have stayed in touch somehow after all?

"Greg... I don't know. But he's always been a big teddy bear! At least to us."

He leaned back and regarded the Auror thoughtfully.

"... You think he did it, don't you? I doubt it. The man could never be so clever."

******

Harry shrugged. "I follow the evidence where it leads. And I learned a long time ago not to discount or underestimate anyone. For good or for ill." He thought of Snape, Pettigrew, Neville, even Malfoy. So many times his assumptions, and those of others, were catastrophically off the mark. 

The fact of the matter was, Malfoy's attacker was still out there. Which meant the paranoia that had driven him to ground was warranted. There was no telling when someone angry enough to try to take a life might make a second attempt, so Harry wouldn't rest until the case was solved. But the crick in his neck and gritty feeling in his eyes told him he should be done for the day (except maybe to put in a request for the Hit Wizards to track Goyle down ASAP).

His stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. He hadn't actually eaten lunch. "That's my cue to call it quits, I think," he declared with a self-deprecating half smile. "You have been helpful. And absolutely maddening, let's be clear."

****** 

"I think that's my new favourite way to describe me: 'helpful and maddening'," Draco laughed softly and kept his eyes down toward his lap. His hands were clenched into tight fists, though his energy read anxiety versus anger. After a few seconds, he lifted his gaze to catch Harry's and bit his bottom lip.

"About that confession from before... Any chance the cute smile you threw me really meant something?"

****** 

How Malfoy could swing so rapidly from cocky swagger to sweet shyness was mind boggling. The nervous way he fidgeted made Harry want to leap to comfort and reassure, but he was trying to be better about his impulsiveness these days. Was a relationship with a man he'd known as an antagonist when they were boys and who was now little better than a stranger really something he wanted to jump blindly into?

The answer was a resounding yes.

He scooped his paperback novel up off the side table and chucked it at the Slytherin. "I've read every one of your bloody books, you wanker," he grinned. "Of course it meant something."

******

Draco jumped as the book was suddenly tossed at him, eyes wide with surprise, but his old Seeker's reflexes kicked in just in time to catch the thing mid-air-toward-face. He set it aside on the coffee table and grinned.

"So you figured out my little secret, eh? Just don't tell my father. At least not without me present. I want to be there when he has a heart attack over it."

His eyes glittered mischievously as he eyed the man across from him again, this time with far more appreciation. Potter had scruffy, thick hair that looked shiny and soft; brilliant green eyes that could melt ice or give birth to butterflies with just a glance; and a perfect build, as far as Draco was concerned... far better to be seen in life than in fantasy. He worried his lip once more.

"In that case... How would you like to address things? I assume you know how I feel about it. Rather obvious, really."

******

Harry laughed from deep in his belly about the idea of Lucius dropping dead over the books. Malfoy looked him over with obvious appreciation in his gaze, making Harry flush.

How did he want to proceed? His stomach growled again, having a clear opinion on the subject. "How about we do dinner, for starters," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck in mild apprehension. "I can throw something together, if you'd like to stay?"

****** 

Draco nodded enthusiastically. His heart was beating a hundred miles a minute. He couldn't believe he was actually in Harry Potter's house, being invited to dinner by the man himself who was about to cook for him, and it was all just a starter toward something that could be so much bigger.

 _This may actually be worth near death_ , he thought soppily.

"If you'll make tea I promise to behave and not snoop this time."

****** 

Harry was apparating blind. He felt jittery with nervous excitement, but he was also just plain anxious. He'd never so much as _flirted_ with a bloke while sober, and this was a good deal more than flirting.

It was also obvious that this wasn't Malfoy's first quidditch match--he would expect sex at some point. Which was fine: Harry would, too, of course. But if Malfoy expected it to be like the sex he wrote about--intense and passionate and earth-shattering--well, that might be a bit of a disappointment. He'd never had sex like that before. His experience with shagging was that it was slightly more interesting than wanking; a novel way to get his rocks off. It had never been the kind of spine-tingling, toe-curling, soul-rending lovemaking Malfoy described (in vivid detail).

This could be Harry's opportunity to find out how much of that was fiction contrived to sell books to randy housewives and how much of it was...Malfoy.

With a spike of desire making his fingertips tingle, he gazed at the man walking alongside him as they made their way to the kitchen stairs. Malfoy was loose-limbed and rangy, and he grinned openly when he caught Harry looking. The way he wore his hair these days--past his chin and free-flowing--was vaguely reminiscent of Lucius, but the artful disorder was all him. The person Malfoy had become. Draco, Harry supposed. Because this man was markedly different from the sniveling, snobby, angry arse he'd known at Hogwarts.

"You'll get your tea," he answered with a grin. "But I'm going to hold you to that promise."


	6. Dinner

Draco sat at the humble table in the basement-level kitchen. The chairs were wood and without cushions, but as soon as his rear hit the seat he knew they had been charmed--it was as comfortable as sitting back on the sofa. A shaking hand swept through his hair, mussing his bed-head even further.

"Just make sure it's strong. I don't take anything in my tea except honey," he said with mock snootiness (and laughter in his eyes). "Perfection, Potter. I deserve only the best."

Once he was comfortable, and Potter had his back to him, Draco decided it was time for a bit of ogling... Specifically the man's tight, rounded arse. His eyes skimmed across the edge of the Auror's back pockets curving lovingly over two perfect hemispheres. The double stitched seams felt like a tease--the line underneath begged to be caressed with the tip of his fingers or tickled with his tongue. He crossed his legs and scooted closer to the table to hide a growing problem before forcing his eyes away to peruse the rest of the unusual space.

******

Harry rolled up his shirt sleeves and donned an apron. He'd shed his robes while Malfoy slept. He set the kettle to boil and rummaged in the pantry to see what he had on hand that would be quick and easy. _Carrots, potatoes, onions...Curry, it is._

"I know your knife skills are good, Mr. Potions Prodigy," he declared with a smirk, dropping the vegetables on the counter on his way to the refrigerator to retrieve the chicken and coconut milk, "so get over here and work for your dinner. I'd like that onion cut into eighths, the potato cubed, and the carrots thinly sliced. I'll get started on the protein. There's another apron in that drawer," he pointed with his elbow since his hands were full, "and the knives are in the block."

He put two cutting boards side-by-side on the counter top, got a skillet preheating on the hob, and set about preparing the chicken.

"Come on then," he prompted over his shoulder when Malfoy merely gawked. 

******

Draco rolled his eyes as he was given orders. Of course he had to help. He gave a very put-upon sigh but consented nonetheless with a long drag of the chair from the table. At least the idea of labor was enough to allow his erection to subside.

"So bossy," he admonished playfully as he grabbed his necessary tools and went to work. "Just remember demands are not one of my turn-ons. Not unless they are delivered in a sexy growl."

******

Harry snorted.

He got a stupid idea while arranging the chicken on the board and dismissed it immediately.

But then it rolled through his head again and it didn't seem quite so ridiculous the second time. At least not compared to all of Malfoy's absurdity.

Malfoy took his sweet time sidling up next to him, selecting a knife, and making his first precise cut. Harry waited until he got into something of a rhythm and had a nice little pile of carrot slices forming before leaning over to whisper in his ear, voice husky and commanding, "Put them in the skillet when you're done."

****** 

Draco nearly sliced his finger. The warm breath on his ear coupled with the tone... Even after all his teasing he never expected Potter to reciprocate. He lifted up a slice of carrot to the Auror's lips in offering.

"Yes, sir," he murmured with a seductive smile as he looked through his lashes at the man.

******

The look Malfoy wore was pure sex.

Feeling emboldened, Harry nipped the carrot from his fingers, but he turned quickly back to the chicken as his cheeks began to heat from embarrassment. He used the excuse of food prep to cover his self-consciousness, dumping the chicken and a splash of olive oil into the sizzling skillet. He began setting the table while the meat was browning.

"When did you start writing?" he asked conversationally, placing a (mismatched) fork and knife next to each bowl.

****** 

Draco continued to slice the vegetables with an especially smug smirk. The sound of the sizzling meat filled the momentary silence as Potter put out cups and flatware. 

"Third year," he answered honestly. "Mostly short stories. Some of it was based on real life while others were just random ideas. No one ever knew or read any of it, though; not even Pansy." _Mainly because they involved me kissing Harry Potter and then doing progressively worse things to him as I got older and read more porn--she'd have hexed me into oblivion..._

****** 

"How did you come to write professionally?" Harry inquired, genuinely curious. He returned to the hob to turn the chicken, pleased with the golden brown sear that was developing.

****** 

"Professionally?" Draco asked, sliding each bowl of vegetables over to Potter as he filled them. "I decided to publish one of my longer stories, just to see what kind of fan-base I could catch... Fishing, I suppose." He smiled--a bit proud, a bit shy. "It was surprisingly well-received. There's quite a market for erotic fiction as it turns out. One day a woman from a publishing company asked if I would write for her company for a hefty sum. I jumped for it. I was about eighteen, I think."

 He finished his task and went to wash his hands, back to Potter and eyes downcast as a light tinge of pink graced his fair cheeks.

"...My first book was actually based on one of my short stories from Hogwarts."

****** 

Following directions was not one of Malfoy's strong suits (no real surprise there). Harry went to get the vegetables he was supposed to add to the skillet and did it for him, stepping back quickly to avoid a face full of hissing steam. He then filled a bowl with boiling water for couscous and saved the rest for tea.

He didn't think he was imagining the bashfulness in Malfoy's tone--it seemed Hermione had been more right than she knew. Harry's stomach gave a wobbly tremor at the thought.

"Where did you find inspiration for the rest?" he asked, not convinced he was actually ready to hear the answer.

****** 

Draco turned back from the sink once he knew the burn in his cheeks was well controlled. He grinned sheepishly at the skillet, even offering a shrug. "Whoops! Knew I forgot something." (There was no real apology in his voice.)

"The rest were mostly inspired by dreams or fantasies I concocted during lazy days where I had nothing else to do but wank."

He pulled at the tie of his apron, figuring his part was done. He slid the neck over his head and tossed it half-hazardly back into the drawer.

"What about you? Why did you start reading?"

****** 

It took Harry a long minute to process Malfoy's question because his brain got hung up on images of the unreasonably sexy blond wanking the days away. (He did not miss the fact that no other men had been listed as inspiration, however.)

He cleared a throat gone suddenly dry and turned to add the coconut milk and seasonings to the hot skillet.

"Hermione gave me one as a joke," he explained, stirring the curry with a wooden spoon. "She always gives me a book for my birthday because I once said they make terrible gifts. She goes out of her way to find the most ridiculous ones she can. That's why I own Gardening the Muggle Way, Breeding Dangerous and Deadly Creatures--An Illustrated Guide, Skeeter's autobiography, and _two_ copies of Hogwarts, A History. She actually is a fan of yours, though. And, well," Harry rubbed the back of his neck and gave a lopsided smile, "so am I."

He turned the heat down to simmer and leaned against the counter, facing Malfoy (digging deep to find the courage to do so). "You're a great writer," he said earnestly. "It's why I read all your books." (Well, not the _only_ reason...)

****** 

"You mentioned that before." Draco meant back in the sitting room when Potter had tossed the book at him. His cheeks heated once more at the confession, though the frown he was trying his best to sport was an obvious (and failed) attempt to hide his embarrassment. His eyes were staring down at the counter.

"I'm not surprised Granger likes them. I always suspected her to be a fangirl," he smirked. "And I already knew she was a smart arse. How are they these days? Her and the Weas-ley?" He'd very nearly said 'Weasel'; he hoped Potter didn't notice. He coughed and carefully lifted his anxious gaze to the Auror's handsome face. And it was quite handsome...Square jaw, tanned skin, just a hint of stubble--he had really grown up.

"Which one was your... favorite?"

 ****** 

Something in Harry's chest fluttered when Malfoy gazed at him with a soft, hesitant expression.

He decided to answer the questions chronologically to buy time before tackling the harder one.

"Hermione and Ron are good," he replied, tone fond. "They have a daughter. Don't know if you knew that." Malfoy probably didn't care, actually, but it was good of him to ask. And it mattered to Harry, so he was going to have to start caring if this--whatever it was--was going anywhere.

"As for my favourite..." he tucked his hands into his front pockets, leaving his thumbs hanging out. "It's hard to choose." He scrunched his face in thought, staring up at the rafters as if they might have the answer. Some of Malfoy's books had more interesting plots than others, some characters he resonated with more. They were all fast-paced and funny. And hot.

"Probably Prince Charming," he settled on finally. "It was the first."

****** 

Draco twitched. It was suddenly too hot in the kitchen, and not just because of the curry they were cooking filling the room with warmth. He took a long, deep breath and turned his back slowly on the Auror. With one hand braced to the counter and the other hanging loose at his side, eyes fixed on some random dot on the wall, he asked a plain, "Why?" in a wavering voice.

****** 

Malfoy went tense and turned away. Harry wasn't sure what kind of reaction he had expected, but that wasn't it. It had been a simple(ish) question and he'd answered honestly, so why was Malfoy so distressed by the response?

He racked his brain for clues, filtering everything that had been said about the books.

The reason, when it came to him, was obvious, and he relaxed somewhat to have reckoned it.

"I think it's because I identified with Leopold," he answered truthfully (grinning internally at the somewhat mean way he was twisting the screws). "The lost prince raised as a pauper until he's suddenly burdened with ruling a kingdom that can't decide how it feels about him. I resonated with a lot of what he felt."

He withdrew his hands and faced the hob to give the curry a final stir and begin to ladle it over the now-fluffy couscous. "And then there's Damien. He's smart, he's snarky, he's not afraid to challenge Leopold, and he knows how to _handle a sword_ ," he put enough emphasis on the last words for the innuendo to be unmistakable. "What's not to like?" he smirked.

He carried the curry to the table to dish it into the bowls and motioned with his head for Malfoy to follow. "The chemistry between them is electric and undeniable," he continued, gaining steam. "And I especially like that their relationship has to overcome significant challenges, what with it being so unconventional." He seated himself and picked up his fork. "I've never liked for things to be too easy," he concluded with a wink.

****** 

It took a solid minute for Draco to regain his footing. He took a long, though quiet, breath and closed his eyes--counting to ten as patiently as he could. Once composed, he swiveled on the spot to face Potter again.

"Well, _Leopold_ , I suppose it's a good thing I'm not as easy as I seem." There was something in the undertone of his words. He smiled as casually as he could muster and moved to settle in the seat directly in front of Potter where his bowl waited. One hand lifted his spoon, but he didn't dig in just yet. "Smells delicious. Glad I helped."

He watched Potter closely, his countenance a little too innocent now. He waited until Potter brought a spoonful of curry to his lips before slipping a bare foot between his legs and petting his calf through his trousers.

He began to eat as if nothing out-of-the-ordinary was taking place.

****** 

Harry nearly choked on his curry. That had been Malfoy's intention, of course; bloody fiend.

He set down his spoon with composure that impressed even him and picked up his glass for a long drink of water. His heart had lodged itself somewhere around his Adam's apple and made swallowing difficult. It thudded like a jungle drum.

Malfoy sat across from him smiling cherubicly between bites, continuing to stroke his leg all the while with a nimble foot that would never not be sexy from that point forward.

Trading glass for spoon, he pinned Malfoy's foot between his legs so he could capture it and bring it onto his lap. "No one in their right mind would ever call you _easy_ ," he retorted, curling his off-hand around the bony back of it and pressing his thumb into the pronounced arch for a dragging stroke.

He took another bite, casual as you please.

****** 

That elicited a soft chuckle from Draco while he ate another spoonful of the surprisingly good dish. His foot jerked a little as the arch was touched but he did his best not to acknowledge it. Instead, he straightened his toes and pressed them against Potter's flat stomach.

"Oh, I am about as hard to understand as it is to, I don't know... Break into Gringrotts and ride out on a dragon?"

****** 

"Harder, I'd say," Harry responded with authority. (He was the world's foremost expert on the topic.)

He rubbed circles into the side of Malfoy's foot near his prominent ankle as they ate their dinner, trying not to fixate on how little distance separated said foot and his crotch. (He was doing a piss poor job of it.) "So tell me," he prompted (to give himself something else to think about), "were you ever going to approach me or were you just going to keep writing best sellers about me while I was none the wiser?"

****** 

"Who says they're about you?" Draco asked, mainly to be a brat. "Kind of presumptuous, don't you think?"

While receiving a small massage around his Achilles, he used his talented toes to inch Potter's shirt up, thankful it had not been tucked in. Once he could, he pressed them into the lower part of Potter's abdomen.

****** 

Harry's breath hitched at the sudden skin-on-skin contact.

When it started back up again, it was faster. Shallower. Slightly panty.

Prudence demanded that they have a conversation right quick--before his hormones took over and made reasonable discourse impossible. If he was going to have any hope of focus, that foot would have to go. Regretfully, he gave it a final squeeze and shifted it to the floor; scooting his chair back as he did so that Malfoy wouldn't be able to reach him anymore. (Gladys had taught him a thing or two, after all.)

"This is all pretty new to me," he explained, voice cracking embarrassingly at the start. "I want--" He wasn't even sure what he wanted. More, certainly. Malfoy.

He cleared his throat. "I don't know how to proceed," he admitted. "I told you before that I don't usually sleep with someone who's part of a case. Never have, actually. But your case is different from the norm because it's older." He tugged compulsively at his fringe, the weight of Malfoy's stare making him nervous.

In for a knut, in for a galleon.

"I've never actually dated a bloke, either."

****** 

Draco's foot fell to the ground and he blinked at his dinner companion in surprise, his fork half-way to his mouth when be paused. He started momentarily at the confession... And then shrugged.

"That's fine. We can take it slow," he said reassuringly. "I've dated, but I've never had sex so it'll be a learning experience for both of us."

Was it too soon to mention that? He hoped not. He wanted Potter--Harry; he'd always been Harry in the secret recesses of his mind--with every fiber of his being. Had for years. But hearing the man so unsure left him wanting to share in the hope it could be a comfort.

"...That too weird...?" Draco asked with a wince.

****** 

Harry goggled.

He had to have misheard.

There was no way that the flirty, fit, sexy, sensual bloke who'd been close to bringing him off with his foot just a minute ago and who wrote about sex for a living was a _virgin._

...Was there?

It would lend credence to his idea that Malfoy's sex scenes were pure fiction.

Bollocks. He'd been hoping that...

Oh well. He still liked the man (against his better judgment). Sex wasn't the only thing he was interested in. And this revelation took a lot of pressure off so--

"No," he smiled. "Not too weird."

****** 

Draco gave a nakedly adoring smile of his own but quickly smothered it with cocky attitude. 

"Just so you know, however," he began as he returned to his meal, "Despite the fact that I haven't penetrated or been penetrated... I can almost guarantee I have more sexual experience than you, in way of experimentation at any rate."

He chuckled as he nibbled on a chicken chunk and licked the sauce from his lips.

"Blaise used to ask me to watch when he would have sex. Kinky bastard, that one. Sometimes he and his partners would use toys. He likes men and women, so that was actually how I discovered I was gay... I didn't care to see breasts. I also walked in on an orgy in the common room late one night when I wanted a snack from the kitchens. The Slytherin dorms were home to quite a bit of debauchery."

He slipped his fork into his mouth and sucked on it as his gaze stayed locked with Potter's. He let his tongue flick off the prongs. "My point is... I'm glad I didn't just get off on anyone when the opportunity presented itself, but I'm also no prude. I want to fuck you, but I'm willing to wait. Good thing we can explore and play in the meantime!"

****** 

Apparently the salacious rumors about Slytherin house were true. That was a disturbing thought. And of course Malfoy had waited until Harry'd taken another bite before saying all of that. It would be his luck to meet his end choking on a carrot because of the man's lack of filter and preponderance of cheek.

"Good thing," he wheezed, having a difficult time pulling off the sarcastic tone he was going for with his windpipe thus compromised.

He now had the challenge of deciding just how much 'exploration' he wanted to do with Malfoy and when. His prick had a clear opinion but Harry wasn't going to take someone's virginity on a lark. Even if Malfoy acted like it was no big deal, it was to him.

"With your progressive attitude and so much, uh, opportunity around you, what stopped you from sleeping with anyone before now?"

******

"Hm. Mainly lack of interest," Draco replied, "and a great expanse of toys. You see, people would either bore me after the first few minutes of snogging or make me angry somehow. Major turn off. I found toys to be all I needed..."

He leaned forward with sparkling eyes and spoke as if he were discussing a lively new play.

"I'm certain I'll be good at blow jobs! I sometimes like to felate my favourite dildo until it's nice and wet and then fuck myself on it with no extra lube just to feel the burn."

******

Harry was conflicted. Excruciatingly so. (Or, wait, maybe that was his hard on.)

It was something of a novel experience for him. Usually he knew what he wanted--and what he didn't--with a high degree of certainty. But at the moment he was woefully uncertain.

Not about the wanting. That much was obvious.

But what he should do about it.

He cleared his throat so that his next question wouldn't come out a strangled squeak. "How can you be so sure I won't bore or anger you?" He would hate to make up his mind about Malfoy only to have the fickle man rescind his offer.

******

A wide grin nearly threatened, but Draco kept it at bay with great difficulty and a deep, discrete breath.

"Well, it comes down to the kissing... I sometimes lose interest by watching how a person moves or listening to them prattle nonsense. And for the record, you have made me mad on several occasions and that didn't run me away. So...one test left."

He spooned a bit more curry and chewed it thoughtfully, expression innocent and serene. 

******

It was that 'innocent' smile--smug around the edges and smirking in his eyes--that did Harry in. Malfoy had pushed and needled and goaded and teased him almost continuously since the wedding.

He had reached his limit.

He practically threw his fork on the table, slid his chair back with a harsh scrape along the floor, stalked the short distance to where Malfoy sat, and took his face in one hand, bracing the other on the back of his chair. He swooped in for a kiss before Malfoy even had a chance to respond.

******

As soon as Potter's brow twitched at his challenge Draco knew he had won. It was the man's tell, from as far back as second year. Apparently he had not figured it out yet. The fork fell to the plate and the happy screaming was back in full force in Draco's head. He remained silent and passive as Potter approached. A breathy "Harry" escaped into the Auror's mouth just as their lips connected. It was an awkward angle for the man, he knew, but an opportunity like this wasn't guaranteed to come again--he wouldn't waste it. Putting what experience he had and all the research and study he had done to good use (at last), he tilted his head into the sudden kiss to allow full access to his mouth, which parted with an intent for more. He licked the pink edge of Potter's lips in question.

******

Malfoy opened for him without a breath of hesitation, setting Harry's blood aflame.

There was nothing tentative in the kiss. No room for misgivings over the fact he was kissing a bloke while in full possession of his mental faculties. Harry knotted his fingers in the long, silky strands of Malfoy's hair and mapped the contours of his mouth with his tongue, tasting curry and onion and coconut and something earthier below those flavours that was all Malfoy.

He could have drowned in the kiss. He poured all of his wanting and frustration and excitement and uncertainties into the hot press of lips and twining of tongues, making the occasional needy, frantic, aborted noise against his will.

Malfoy did not snog like a novice.

******

Draco moaned softly as his mouth was dominated. He kicked his chair away from the table, somehow without breaking the kiss, leaving enough room in the seat for two. His hands curled into Potter's front pockets and pulled him sideways and forward until he had lap full of Auror. Both arms encircled the man and his kisses became more demanding, in case Potter was dumb enough to attempt escape. The curry was spicy and tingled along the thin skin of his lips. Potter, on the other hand, was a wonderful contrast--sweet like jasmine tea.

After long moments of hugging the man in his lap and trying to ignore the growing issue in his tight trousers, Draco regretfully pulled away and swallowed hard for air.

"I..." He began with an audible sigh. "I guess that answers that..."

His chest was heaving and a flush climbed his throat. From Potter's carding, his hair had gone from a somewhat artistic mess to just messy--and he couldn't care less. Having someone tug at it was far more pleasant than he expected.

******

Harry grinned wolfishly. Malfoy's pupils were blown wide, his lips flushed red and cheeks tinged pink, and he panted for breath. He'd reached for sass and couldn't find it, which meant a job well done for him.

"You need to be entirely sure," he growled, tilting Malfoy's head back with the grip on his hair and angling his chin with his other hand. He licked a stripe along Malfoy's puffy lower lip then sucked it between his teeth for a gentle(ish) nibble. When Malfoy's mouth dropped open on a moan, he thrust his tongue inside once more.

He could feel Malfoy's heartbeat racing under the palm of his hand, which rested against the side of his neck; the staccato rhythm matched the one thudding in his chest.

For his part, Harry felt more certain by the moment.

******

Draco's bare toes were curling against the tiled floor. His skin began to perspire as his body grew hotter and hotter with every passing moment. The growl Potter produced wasn't helping matters. He gripped onto the Auror for dear life with one hand on his thigh as their tongues battled for dominance--Draco's stabbing and caressing as he tried to win back control. Potter's muscular stomach was like an inferno against his free hand, which splayed across the man's lower abdomen and slowly ascended onto his chest. He gripped the tight pectoral he found and flicked his thumb against what he imagined would be a dusky nipple. The tip of his thumb circled the areola and he vaguely measured its diameter to about an inch, maybe an inch and a half. It shrank under his ministrations until its peak stood upright, prompting him to pinch and tug.

******

Harry gasped into Malfoy's mouth when his nipple was pinched. The sensation shot directly to his prick, which strained against his trousers. He widened his legs as much as he could (which wasn't much, sadly) so he could rock forward and rut against Malfoy's stomach.

The snog went from brilliant to really bloody fantastic, just like that. 

He released Malfoy's hair so he could grip the hand kneading his thigh and move it to his arse instead.

******

Potter was so willing and the kiss was even more than Draco dared to dream. It was hot, passionate, and utterly perfect--like the rest of him. It was too bad it had to stop.

If they went too far it might ruin the tentative relationship they were developing. It was like ripping skin off, forcing his mouth away from Potter's with a loud gasp. He squeezed Potter's fine, firm arse once before both hands moved to still his rolling hips.

"Potter," he began in a desperate voice. "Harry... Stop. We can't. Not yet."

******

Harry is not too proud to admit that he whinged.

It wasn't even that he was trying to change Malfoy's mind; the sound was simply the natural product of his violent arousal smashing against the iron wall of his integrity. He rested his forehead against Malfoy's--slick with perspiration--and tried to catch his breath a moment before climbing off with shaking legs.

He walked unsteadily back to his chair and dropped into it, using the table as a protective barrier between them.

"Ok," he answered eventually, when he was sure he could speak. "But why?"

******

Draco straightened his clothes out and tried his best to hide his disappointment (and the way the voice inside screeched like a banshee in protest.) Once he knew he could answer without his voice shaking, which took a couple of minutes and a lot of deep breathing, he placed his hands on the table, palms up in offering for Potter's.

"Why? Because I like you," he said, as if it were obvious. "I want this thing we might be growing to flourish and bloom. I want to get to know the man known as Harry Potter and decipher him from the boy I knew. I want this to be something real and far from fleeting... I want us to date, have fights, make up, take naps, and, yes, rut and experiment and have sex. But I don't want the latter to be our main component.

"I know it's my own fault, mind," his smirk returned. "Terribly sexy and all that. But I also admit it's hard to behave around you..."

******

Harry eyed Malfoy's hands skeptically. He wasn't the handholding type. If he was going to do it, it was something that had to be worked up to, not done one hour into maybe dating someone he was feeling somewhat petulant toward (or one minute after the frustrating end of some really excellent snogging).

When Malfoy started talking, however--laying the cards out on the table for Harry to do with as he pleased--he found the will to place his hands in the other man's to reciprocate the trust that was being placed in him.

He nodded when Malfoy finished, most of his negativity shriveled up and blown away by Malfoy's honest words. He took a slow breath then blinked and nodded again--convincing himself of his reply while replaying it in his head.

"I want that, too."

After a beat he added fake sternly, "But you are going to have to ease off all the coy innuendos and unsubtle taunting and ruddy skintight clothing," he raised a pointed brow at Malfoy's shirt, "if you want me to keep my hands to myself."

******

Draco snorted. "I can attempt to be good in the behavior department, but unfortunately all I own is skin-tight or revealing clothing," he replied with a one-shouldered shrug (though it was meant as a joke, the statement was about 80% true, however). "I do admit it may be hard to keep from wanting to touch you myself... You're a very sexy man, did you know that?"

He grinned and squeezed Harry's hands, rubbing his thumb against the bones of his wrist with no more pressure than a butterfly's touch.

"Now, how about we finish dinner and I go home? Before I lose my resolve and suck you off under the table anyway."

oo00oo00oo

To Harry's mixed relief, Malfoy was on his best behavior for the remainder of the meal. They talked about why he'd become an Auror--because he liked it and was good at it--and Malfoy's strained relationship with his parents--the main reason he'd moved out of the Manor even though he could have had an entire wing to himself.

When he wasn't doing his damnedest to drive Harry spare, Malfoy was a surprisingly good conversationalist. He was attentive, witty, and engaging, and his wry observations made Harry smile. Maybe it shouldn't have been that surprising given how much he enjoyed Malfoy's writing, but then, that wouldn't necessarily translate to interpersonal skills, he thought.

It was apparent how much of the world Malfoy missed as a shut in, though. He kept up with the major goings on through the papers, but he was perceptibly out-of-touch to Harry (now that he'd keyed in to that fact). He hoped that Malfoy would feel safe enough to begin venturing out again once his attacker was behind bars. All the more reason to solve the case quickly.

Malfoy bid him goodnight with a depressingly chaste brush of lips and apparated home from Grimmauld's doorstep.

Harry stayed up for another several hours, writing owls to be sent first thing in the morning and compiling case notes. He concluded the night with a short wank and a long shower.

It wasn't enough.

******

There was no Floo in Draco's house, as he knew all too well how easy it was to override Floo security and force one's self through--his friends had done it on more than one occasion to each other, after all. It would take strength like what Hogwarts had to keep them out. So, he apparated to his door (anti-apparition wards) and quickly bustled inside.

Noting his empty coat rack (he didn't own more than the one as far as regular outer-wear went), he realized his coat was still on Harry's desk.A reason to visit, perhaps. 

Once inside with the doors securely locked, he marched with a frown upstairs to his bedroom and flopped across his bed with a sigh of resignation (after stomping up the stairs to his inner-brat's delight). He breathed (whined) into his duvet.

_I had Harry Potter hot and willing and in my lap. Harry fucking Potter. My fantasy of more than ten years. What is wrong with me?_

He sighed and slowly turned to lay on his back with his eyes gazing across the ceiling in thought. He smiled softly to himself as he recalled their impromptu dinner. The night had been exciting, and Potter (Harry) was surprisingly funny, clever, and so straight forward he nearly threw the exceptionally blunt Draco for a loop. Conversation (and kissing) came easy between them, despite their old rivalry and the years spent apart... Well, actually spending years apart may very well be why they got along so well now.

 _Ha. Who knew a wedding I nearly missed would lead to all this..._ His thoughts fell away, unwilling to put a label on the way he was feeling just yet (whatever it was, however, turned his brain to mush and was painted clearly on his face.) Instead, he closed his eyes and began to work the laces on his trousers. He slipped a hand through the loosened hem and skated his fingers across his cock--the thought of brilliant green eyes and wild black hair stirring it to hardness before it was even freed.


	7. Interrogation skills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're baaack! The long delay was mostly my (playout's) fault. Prinn sent her stuff to me a while ago, but I got distracted by adorably grumpy ferret!Draco in 'Where's Granger When You Need Her?'. The good news is, the next several chapters of this bad boy are beta'd and ready for final proofing before posting. I will do my best to get them up in a timely fashion. *mwah!*

When Harry arrived at work the next morning, he discovered Malfoy's coat slung over the arm of the sofa where he'd apparently left it. Seeing it triggered a flood of visceral memories: Malfoy stripping down to his trousers for his impromptu nap, the lewd and lascivious way he'd eaten his dinner, the Snog to End All Snogs. (That bloody kiss had been a revelation in and of itself).

Frowning, Harry folded it and put it in one of the drawers of his desk so that it wouldn't continue distracting him with the threat of inappropriate erections throughout the day. He then delivered by owl the syringe Malfoy had given him to Level 10 (requesting the Unspeakables check the muggle implement for a magical signature or possible magical enhancements) and sent a memo to the Hit Wizards down the hall to begin the search for Goyle. Even if the junior Death Eater wasn't the attacker that Harry's gut told him he was, he was still a valuable source of information.

With those tasks complete, he turned his attention to the large stack of files that had appeared on his desk sometime after he left yesterday.

_An Auror's job is never done..._

******

Ron was never as early as Harry. He had a growing baby at home and a busy wife, which meant he dealt with morning nappies and a trip to his parents' to drop the tiny girl off before work. Fortunately, his partner never seemed to mind; especially not when he brought treats. Today he came bearing a basket of muffins his mother had made, which he presented with a flourish.

"Gifts from mum to her two favorite Aurors. And I think she snuck a treacle tart in there."

He dropped the basket on Harry's desk and fell heavily into his own chair.

"Sorry I'm late, by the way... Rosie has a cough."

******

Harry eagerly dug through the basket in search of the rumored tart. "No worries," he replied, grinning ear-to-ear when he found it at the bottom, wrapped in one of Molly's gingham dish cloths. He hugged it to his chest. "You brought food, so I forgive you. And your mum is my hero." His smile wavered momentarily, some of his enthusiasm dampened by worry. "Is Rosie ok, though?"

The ginger terror was his second favourite tiny person, right behind Teddy. It was a pity to think of her unwell.

******

"She's fine," Ron answered. "No fever and mum's got her on all the potions."

Harry smiled with relief and dug into his unorthodox breakfast.

"You sure do like your tarts," Ron laughed and shook his head at his best friend's antics as he moved to pull the first file from the in-box. "Maybe if the next fit bloke you saw was covered in the stuff you'd finally be willing to admit you like men."

He cackled evilly at Harry's exaggerated frown, but stopped short a moment later upon registering the content of the parchment he held.

******

Harry scowled at his best friend. He wasn't exactly in a position to refute the accusation, but he still didn't appreciate it. He wasn't bent--he liked birds plenty. He just also happened to like blokes on occasion. Malfoy, in particular, at the moment.

"What's on the file?" he asked to change the subject.

******

Ron dipped his quill, scanning the parchment for the spots that needed his initials. "It's the case we solved last week," he answered without looking up. "The one with the husband who nearly blasted his wife's head off. Trial date was set. For now they just want confirmation of our statements." He signed his name at the bottom and the papers disappeared into cold, blue flame. He was glad to be rid of them.

"You know," he began again, attempting to be coy, "since we're on the subject of you and blokes... How is the git--I mean, Malfoy's case coming? Find the fellow who nearly did him in yet?"

******

_'Since we're on the subject,'_ Harry repeated internally, incredulous. Just because Ron coincidentally happened to be one hundred percent correct didn't give him the right to make comments like that.

"Not yet," he answered brusquely, setting his tart aside--the reminder of that grisly case turned him off eating for the time--and electing to ignore Ron's sass. "I think it was Goyle but that's just a hunch. I'm hoping to have him in for an interview soon and the Unspeakables are checking for a magical signature on the weapon. There's not much else I can do in the meantime."

******

"Just be careful around him, mate. I know you say you don't care for men, but... Well... he _is_ Malfoy. He's a manipulative git and I heard he's a whore to boot. You don't want to get your rocks off on that one--there's no telling what a Slytherin might be carrying, especially him."

He wasn't paying attention to Harry as he spoke as his hands and eyes were occupied with files.

"I decided to ask around to see if perhaps he might be using the situation to get close to you--since he did have that obsession with you back in the day--and I heard some pretty interesting stuff."

******

Harry shut and locked the door and cast a _muffliato_ for good measure. He was irritated enough that it was no trouble summoning the magic to do so wandlessly. The expulsion of energy helped him get a handle on his anger. (It wouldn't do to lash out now, Ron would think he was being defensive.)

He pulled the files out of Ron's hand and tossed them onto his desk, demanding his partner's undivided attention. "Look," he said seriously, intent on setting the record straight, "Malfoy is interested in me. He told me so himself. Your sources were right about it being a longstanding crush, but the rest of that is bollocks. He's not like he was in school." (He certainly wasn't a whore, but there was no way Harry could explain how he knew that without telling secrets that weren't his to tell.) "He's all right."

******

Ron blinked at Harry's unexpected outburst--there was a bit of wild magic playing about his figure, as well as a telltale glint of anger in his eyes. He frowned at the sudden change in atmosphere.

"He's all right? _He's all right?_ " Ron was shocked; he gaped in disbelief. "Is he _that_ good in the sack or did you finally hit your head one too many times? Seriously, Harry. He's a Malfoy. _The_ Malfoy. Let Death Eaters into the school Malfoy...Made all our lives miserable for a bloody decade Malfoy...Seen clubbing years after the war like he wasn't on the wrong side of it Malfoy! I get why this case might mean something to you and I agree we can't choose the victims, but come on! The guy is _scum_!"

******

Harry counted to ten. He clenched and unclenched his hands and practiced breathing through his nose and reminded himself that Ron was his first and best friend. And then he did it all again, until his magic had settled to the point that nothing in the office might spontaneously burst into flames. Particularly his arsehole partner.

"I haven't slept with him," he corrected with deliberate calm, "but I might. I want to." He waited to make sure Ron fully absorbed that information. (The wide, fish-like stare he got a moment later said that he had.) "If I do, it isn't going to be a one-off," he stressed. "So this is your chance to stop talking like that and instead ask me what changed my mind. If you're not ready to have that conversation, fine. In that case, either kindly shut it or leave. I won't hear another bad word about Malfoy this morning."

******

Ron sat up straight in his creaky wooden chair, planting his feet firmly on the ground. "Ooookay..." he said carefully, noting the strain in his friend's voice. He hadn't expected Harry to defend Malfoy so strongly or to admit to feelings of want... _Or was that affection?_ 'It isn't going to be a one-off,' he'd said.

"What changed your mind about him? And do you mean to tell me that you want to _date_ him? Exclusive, committed--a _serious_ thing? With _Malfoy_?" The questions kept coming, an unstoppable torrent. "And if you want to sleep with him, why haven't you? The guy is supposedly pretty easy, and so are you for that matter. You never hesitated with a woman, anyway. What _did_ change things?"

******

Harry cast a mild stinging jinx at Ron's arse. He smiled with grim satisfaction when his best friend yelped and glowered.

"I'm not easy," he countered. "Just because it took you and 'Mione years to finally shag doesn't mean the rest of us need to operate on that timeline." He dodged the quill Ron threw at him in response and continued, "Malfoy's not the first bloke I've fancied. You know that as well as I do. He's just the first I've been willing to consider actually taking the gamble on."

He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. He and Ron didn't usually have 'feelings talks.'

"He's interesting," he explained hesitantly. "He makes me...interested. I mean, all the witches I've dated have just been so boring. They agree with everything I say and laugh at all my jokes and stare at me like I'm some kind of fucking living-legend and just lay there in bed letting me do whatever I want without actually participating and I'm bloody sick of it!" He gained steam as he spoke, leaning forward and gesturing wildly. "Malfoy actually listens to me and doesn't just do what I say and he challenges me and, Merlin, he's half daft and he drives me up the wall, but he isn't boring."

He exhaled hard enough to make his fringe flutter, catching himself mid-psychotic rant. "I've only had like three conversations with him," he amended, somewhat calmer, "so who the hell even knows if this will go anywhere. But I want to try."

******

Ron listened intently to his friend's explanation, realizing briefly that Harry didn't have to justify his own life to anyone--and usually wouldn't--but he was being made privy to it anyway. He frowned, though, concern writ plain on his face.

"How do you know Malfoy wants the same?" he pressed. "He's never been known for loyalty without fear, and even then... And you should hear some of the stories I've heard! The last guy he dated was thrown out of his home for not liking chocolate. _Chocolate_ for Merlin's sake!"

******

Harry snorted. That sounded like Malfoy.

"Well I like chocolate, so I don't have to worry about that," he joked, grateful that Ron took him seriously enough to change tactics. His friend gave him a flat frown in response.

Harry sighed. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. "Look," he said, more seriously now, "he could decide he's no longer interested for any number of reasons and so could I. That's the nature of dating someone, isn't it?

"The fact that he's carried a torch for me for so long could go either way--maybe he'll be more likely to stick around even though I frequently come home late (or not at all) because of work and I'm kind of a slob and I snore, or maybe he'll realize I don't match up to the fantasy of me he's created in his head and he'll bolt," he shrugged. "I might decide he's more trouble than he's worth or that cock doesn't actually do it for me--" Ron grimaced, Harry laughed and went on, "I won't know unless I try."

He took a breath to conclude, "So I'm trying."

******

Ron rubbed his neck until it turned pink.

"I'm not sure about this," he replied eventually. "But it's not my decision. I get it... But it's Malfoy! Why couldn't it have been someone who isn't a complete wanker? Ugh..."

He propped his feet on the edge of his desk, reclining back in his chair. He sighed gustily as he once again gathered the files Harry had taken from him and began to sort them into piles--active, closed, trials--to give his hands and eyes something to do while he asked unpleasant questions.

"... Just how long _has_ the guy liked you? And how do you know he's being honest about it?"

******

"He's not a complete wanker, Ron. _Merlin_. Give me a little credit, would you?"

Ron had turned his attention to the files since the conversation was far outside of both their comfort zones, but he didn't drop the subject. Harry knew he was being protective out of genuine concern so he tried to answer the questions in that same spirit.

"He liked me in school, apparently, and it wasn't easy for him to admit that. Which is why I know he's being honest." He caught Ron's eye to add facetiously, "Plus, I don't know if you're aware, I've had extensive training and experience in interrogation and interview techniques so I tend to know when someone's lying."

******

"Really? You had _training_?" Ron met Harry's sarcasm with sarcasm. "You mean before or after that Wendy girl with the crazy eyes who stalked you at work after sleeping with her (despite my warnings)? You're kind of blind where sex is concerned, mate."

******

"Shut it, you," Harry replied without heat (and with some measure of embarrassment because Ron was right on that one). "Anyway we're taking things slow, so my questionable libido is out of the equation." He grabbed a file from the top of the stack and gibed, "Now are you ready to get some actual work done or did you want to paint each other's nails next?"

******

"I bet Malfoy paints _his_ nails," Ron muttered just to be smart. "I only mean be careful. You're my best mate and emotional punching bag, and Malfoy is a conniving Slytherin. You never know!"

******

Harry rolled his eyes. "So noted."

oo00oo00oo

_Dear Potter,_   
_I wasn't sure how to address this (is "Harry" too forward?) so please don't be offended by the use of your surname._  
_I would like to formally invite you to dinner at a lovely and exclusive locale. My treat of course. I reserved us the Garden Room later tonight. I am amiable to meeting you there, coming to get you, or awaiting your arrival. Do you have a preference?_

_Sincerely yours,_   
_Draco_

******

Several hours, case files, and cups of tea later, a barn owl that was unfamiliar to Harry silently glided through the open door of his office and landed on his desk. It stared at him, equally silently, with its weird, slanty face. He stared back at it with a vague sense of unease. (He liked most owls; barn owls were the notable exception.)

He read the parchment it bore.

It was rather presumptuous of Malfoy-- _Draco_ \--to make a dinner reservation without first checking with him. It so happened that he was free and interested in seeing the man again, but still.

On the other hand, he appreciated Draco taking the initiative since it reflected his level of investment. And the idea of dinner _was_ nice...

It seemed that their interactions would forever balance on a set of scales, with irritation on one side and endearment on the other.

It made the most sense for him to just meet Draco there, but then their opportunities for snogging would be limited. With that in mind, he penned his reply--

_Draco,_   
_How about I come to yours after work? I don't know when you made the reservation for but if we have a bit of time to kill, I'm sure we can come up with a way to occupy ourselves._

_Harry_

...His questionable libido might not be _totally_ out of the equation.

******

_Dear Harry,_   
_We do have a bit of leisure between your shift ending and dinner. I considered your work schedule in making the reservation assuming you would want to take your time changing and unwind a bit before coming over. I suppose I have no issue with your arriving early to my domicile... And yes, I am certain I have the means with which to entertain you. Plenty of books to read on the shelf and a deck of cards somewhere, probably._  
_I look forward to seeing you soon._

_Draco_

ooOOooOOoo

**Panic**. There was no other way to describe the unpleasant burn in Draco's belly. His apartment was immaculate, save for his bedroom, and yet he felt the compulsion to clean and straighten until the entire place was absolute perfection. Everything  had to look its best, himself especially.

In deference to Harry's request, he went in search of an outfit that wouldn't be considered too tight, certain he had something that would do (besides stuffy robes and business wear), but the clothes of his that weren't snug were highly revealing. (He'd had something of an extended rebellious phase in the years after the war and his wardrobe reflected his disavowal of anything his father might approve of.) He was forced to settle on a long-sleeved, loose-collared turtle-neck jumper that hugged his body like a glove and trousers that at least didn't curve around his thighs, though they did over his arse. As he appraised himself in the mirror, he frowned.

"I look like a muggle," he muttered to the walls, which was exactly why he'd purchased the top--his father hated muggle styles. Now, he wondered what he was thinking in allowing his strained relationship with the man to dictate all his choices. Well, not _all_. Harry was a need stemming not from adolescent subversiveness but from--

He blushed and turned away.

Now to find a comb...

******

Harry got himself ready in record time. He didn't know how much leisure constituted 'a bit,' but he didn't want to waste one minute of it--he had an agenda (and books and cards were not on it).

His hair was a disaster, as per usual, but he thought he'd done all right in the clothing department, with a flattering pair of slacks and a dark purple dress shirt the sales witch had said made his eyes 'pop'.

He apparated to Malf--Draco's doorstep and knocked, eager anticipation making his heartbeat quick and palms sweaty, like he used to get before a quidditch match.

He was genuinely excited for a change.

And it felt _good_.


	8. Time for Leisure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, folks: the rating has been upgraded to E for this chapter. 
> 
> Translation: Smut ahead. 
> 
> (Finally! Amirite?)

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the knock. The wards surrounding his house hadn't shimmered so he knew the person at the door was someone he had deemed safe--Harry, most likely. He cleared his throat, ran a hand over his hair, and with all the Malfoy confidence he could muster (without all the Malfoy _attitude_ ) he answered the door.

"Harry! This was sooner than expected... Miss me that much?" he teased as he held the door open in silent invitation.

******

" _Yes_ ," Harry answered--low, guttural, and emphatic. He took two steps inside, shut the door behind himself, and had Draco up against it in the blink of an eye.

After the shit with Ron that morning had got his blood boiling (with no good outlet for the anger) and then spending the last three hours since receiving Draco's owl half-hard (because he was thinking obsessively about this moment), there was little finesse to his approach.

But what he lacked in delicacy he more than made up for with _enthusiasm_.

He fisted one hand in Draco's jumper, knotted the other in his long hair, slotted their legs together, and crashed his mouth onto Draco's.

******

That wasn't what Draco expected, but pleasant the surprise was all the same. He gasped as he was thrown against the door in a fit of animalistic lust and again as he felt the Auror's erection meet his currently flaccid (but not for long) cock. He barely had time to appreciate the man's outfit!

He moaned into Harry's mouth at the heady urgency of his kisses as he clasped his hands over his (boyfriend's?) trim waist. Their lips slid together and Draco's tongue darted inside. It was hot, wet, and wonderful.

The door remained unlocked. He didn't think for one second about securing his home while he was so thoroughly and delightfully occupied. Voldemort himself could trapeze through fully nude and he'd not have noticed or cared.

******

Godrick, Merlin, _Circe_ , **_yes_**!

Not that Harry'd ever be able to explain it to Ron, but this was exactly why he wanted to date Draco--he met him exactly where he was at, knowing intuitively what he wanted and delivering. He stoked the flames of Harry's desire until his heart raced and his body sang with sensation.

It had never been that way before, not even with other blokes. He didn't know what made Draco different, but he aimed to find out. Starting with this fucking brilliant snog.

******

Draco took his time exploring the depths of Harry's mouth. There was something spicy on his tongue--from lunch, perhaps--that urged him to lap and suck greedily in an effort to identify the mystery flavour. After a few (ultimately unsuccessful) seconds, he released the fleshy muscle in order to stroke Harry's gums, teeth, the roof of his mouth, finally twisting their appendages together until saliva pooled.

His hands were on the move again: first roaming over the Auror's hips and under the curve of his ass before grabbing both globes and squeezing tight. He shifted his legs apart to accommodate Harry's stance and forced their erections to rub together even harder by jerking him forward.

******

Harry panted and shook. They weren't going to make it to dinner at this rate.

He didn't much care.

He rutted against Draco, relishing in the feel of his equally hard prick, and snogged as if his life depended on it.

For all he knew, it _did_.

Draco didn't seem to be of a mind to take things slowly that evening--not with the way he gripped Harry closer and urged him on--but he'd said he wanted their relationship to be based on something other than sex. And Harry hadn't even rightly said 'hullo.'

The niggle of doubt grew into a rather loud dissenting voice and finally to genuine concern great enough to overcome the primal need that spurred him to continue, consequences be damned. He broke the kiss with a pained gasp and held Draco still with an arm around his middle--the gesture a desperate lifeline as much as it was an embrace.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, voice strained with effort.

******

Draco's head fell back against the door as his mouth was suddenly released. He was practically heaving with the need to fill his burning lungs.

"First of all..." His hands moved from Harry's deliciously toned rear to his waist again as he struggled for words between gulps of air. "First of all, kissing you is bloody _fantastic_... Better than I imagined it would be... But if we continue my very heart-felt speech from before will have been a waste of breath. I doubt I'd let us leave the bedroom long enough for either of us to work, much less form a relationship."

He pecked Harry's lips, then his cheek and ear.

"I'd like to go on at least one real date before we proceed," he finished earnestly, grateful to Harry for giving him the space to say so. "But make no mistake, I am very much looking forward to getting stuffed by you," he winked, attempting to lessen the impact of Harry's visible disappointment with the comedically crass declaration.

******

Harry's sigh was dramatic. ...He'd been afraid of that.

"You have such a poetic way with words," he replied sarcastically, in good humour. He released Draco and took an unsteady step backwards. "Have you ever considered writing professionally?"

He didn't wait for Draco's answer, instead walking further into the house to put distance between himself and temptation incarnate.

He dropped onto the sofa and ran his hands through his hair, attempting every self-soothing trick he knew. They weren't particularly effective just then.

"How long 'til dinner?" he asked (rather desperately) when Draco seated himself across from him. 

******

Draco observed Harry closely after taking a seat. He tilted his head and bit his lip in thought before nodding to himself and standing back up.

"An hour," he replied with a sympathetic smile.

Maybe it was because he had never consummated a relationship before, but as eager as he had been against the door a minute ago it was also fairly easy to keep control of his libido. Much easier, it seemed, than for Harry.

Draco took the few steps toward his date, knelt to the ground, and gently pushed Harry's legs apart before shuffling between them. He placed a hand on the Hero's tented trousers and squeezed.

"I did say there was plenty we could do leading up to sex... And you seem like you need some help," he smirked before undoing the top button. "Let's put my blow job theory to the test, hmm?"

******

Harry'd been breathlessly transfixed as Draco settled himself between his legs, but his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he loosed a desperate groan when his aching prick was palmed.

" _Draco_ ," he choked out, "you don't need to. I'll be fine in a couple minutes."

He would have gone so far as to stop Draco's busy hands, but his own were unwilling to cooperate at the moment.

******

"I know I don't need to... But I want to," Draco responded, sounding almost bashful. "Besides, I imagine if we don't do something about your prick here and now, it might come to life at an inappropriate time later."

He freed Harry's member with a tug on his trousers and pants, leaving them at the Auror's ankles. He couldn't help but stare once he finished his task. The Auror's cock wasn't gigantic (like the rumors said), but it was thick. The vein throbbed, the head already glistened with the first sign of precum, and the skin (flushed now in a dark-pink) was a shade different than the rest of him.

Nothing too out of the ordinary, but for the first time in his life, despite having seen plenty of cocks before, Draco's mouth watered. He immediately pressed the flat of his tongue into the crevice between Harry's sac and straining manhood and licked a slow stripe upward until he could flick the tip over the opening slit.

******

Harry couldn't have said no.

Well, he probably could have if he _really_ put his mind to it, but why should he? Draco said he wanted to, and it was clear that he meant it.

Who was Harry to stop him?

"Oh _Merlin_!" he exclaimed when Draco licked a broad stripe from the base of his prick to the tip. His body curled, knees widening and feet bearing down into the ground. He forced his hips still, however; he didn't want to accidentally choke Draco while he was doing him such a kindness. (He'd never tried himself so he didn't know for sure, but he suspected there was a world of difference between a lifeless toy that one was in complete control over and a warm body that moved and responded in unpredictable ways.)

******

Draco's hands went to Harry's hips and held them down onto the couch firmly as his mouth wrapped around the head. He sucked, nipped, and licked at the sensitive foreskin as if it were a delicious lolly.

Playful gray eyes met drowned, deep green and Draco nearly gasped at the sight. Instead, he sucked Harry even deeper into his mouth until the stiffened flesh met the back of his throat. He hummed loudly as he worked, sending a wave of vibrations into Harry's body.

It was definitely different from a toy. Harry was hot, his velvety skin moved and bunched with Draco's movements, and the flavour was musky and bittersweet. He loved it. He took a deep breath before sliding even further, inhaling deeply the scent that was all _Harry_ in the thick patch of pubic hair at base of his cock.

******

Draco maintained eye contact with Harry the whole time he worked himself down his shaft and, Godrick, that alone was almost his undoing.

On a purely technical level, it wasn't the greatest blow job of his life but it was quite possibly the _hottest_. Draco was so bloody into it, like he was the one about to get off. And there was an undercurrent of naughtiness to the whole affair--because it was a bloke with Harry's prick in his mouth--that made it more exciting. But even that paled in comparison to the sight of his slick, pink prick sliding in and out of the tight ring of Draco's lips as the blond's pale, pale hair brushed Harry's thighs and stormy, mercurial eyes held his--shimmering, smirking, and  smug.

******

There was a special trick to a man's prostate that Draco had written about on more than on occasion. As delightful as it was causing the Saviour of the Wizarding World to come slowly undone, he was feeling impatient about finally getting to taste him--to see his face at the moment of release and feel his spasms in his mouth.

One hand moved from Harry's hip as the other doubled its steadying efforts. With the one now free, Draco tentatively slid his fingers down Harry's testicles (brushing against them only a moment) before dipping his hand to the patch of skin just below. He made a fist and massaged two knuckles firmly into Harry's perineum.

******

Draco swallowed Harry almost all the way down and began kneading his prostate from the outside, making white spots dance in front of his vision and propelling him to the point of no return. His thighs burned from flexing against the urge to thrust and every muscle in his body tensed as the delicious sensation reached a boiling point. Even though it was soon, it was all too much for Harry's usually robust stamina.

He threaded his fingers in Draco's silky hair and rasped, "I'm close."

******

Draco pulled up until only the head occupied his mouth. Both hands moved to stroke the rest of Harry's length in furious swipes, urging him to climax. He could taste the salt of precome dribbling into his mouth. He swallowed automatically and awaited the moment when something much thicker would coat his tongue.

******

In response to Harry's warning, Draco drew back, but not all the way off. The knowledge that he wanted Harry to come in his mouth combined with the additional stimulation from his hands was enough to push him over the edge.

Harry came with a shout, heat exploding through him, setting his nerves aflame. The image of Draco grinning up at him as he swallowed his load burned itself into his mind, sure to haunt his dreams.

******

Choking slightly at the suddenness and force of Harry's orgasm, Draco swallowed as much as he could, thoroughly pleased with the rousing success that was his first foray into pleasuring another man. A few drops spilled past his lips, which he wiped off with his thumb and promptly licked clean. He smirked as he sucked on his digit and slowly stood back up.

Harry looked like he'd been hit with a stunner.

Draco pulled his wand from his thigh holster and redressed the Auror (mostly, he wasn't quite done oggling the man's lovely cock so he purposely left that out) and cleaned his lover with a quick pair of spells. Once that task was accomplished, he put the wand back in its sheathe and climbed into Harry's still exposed lap, knowing he was too spent for the action to be arousing. He hugged Harry's neck and pressed his lips against the other man's in a sweet, soft kiss.

******

Drowsy warmth as thick as treacle poured over Harry making his limbs heavy and thoughts slow, but he wrapped his arms around Draco and turned the gentle kiss into a languid, open-mouthed snog. He could taste himself on Draco's tongue and his spent prick gave a half-hearted twitch of interest in response.

He wasn't quite ready to reciprocate in kind, but he was eager for the feel of Draco in his hand. He snuck his left under Draco's jumper to stroke his leanly muscled back and brushed the other along Draco's thigh to cup his package, kissing all the while.

******

Draco dragged Harry's bottom lip into his mouth for a quick suckle. He licked the darkening skin before releasing it with a gasp. He leaned forward to breathe into the Auror's ear.

"Your hand is so rough and warm," he practically moaned as he was fondled through the laces of his trousers. "I can't wait for you to touch my cock... To squeeze me and stroke me with those talented hands..."

He parted his thighs to make space for Harry undoing his trousers while he attached his teeth to Harry's earlobe.

"Nn, fuck... Touch me, Harry..."

******

Harry did as he was told (for once) and hastily opened Draco's trousers to free his straining prick. It sprung out at him, firm and flush and eager. Not so different from his own, really, just a tad more narrow and with more of a flare at the crown.

Of course he'd seen other pricks--boarding school followed by the locker rooms in the DMLE--but he'd never been so up close and personal with one before, especially not one that was _hard_. His drunken fooling about with other blokes had been limited to over-the-trousers action. Now, however, faced with Draco's very real, very present erection, he was both intimidated and intrigued.

Fortunately, he was pretty good at ignoring intimidation (he'd had practice). Encouraged by Draco's breathless, sultry urging, he wrapped his hand around the hard length and noted its similarities and differences to his own. It was hot, smooth, and had a nice weight to it. He began to tug with the long, easy strokes he preferred at first and watched Draco closely for his reactions.

******

Draco bucked into the deliciously calloused hand that gripped him. He threw his head back and closed his eyes, though his mouth remained parted--he didn't bother to hide how his breathing steadily gained speed.

"Come on, Harry," he urged. "Show a bit of that Auror authority and stop being so easy on me."

******

Harry scoffed. _Draco wanted more, did he?_

He nipped Draco's lips and leaned back and to the side so he had more room to work with. He then pulled Draco's wand from its holster to conjure a bit of lube.

Thus prepared, he grasped Draco's prick once again, steadying them both with his other hand on his hip, and began wanking in earnest--tight, sure strokes that culminated in a twist around Draco's slick crown.

"That more to your liking?" he asked arrogantly.

******

"How am I not surprised my new wand likes you?" Draco chuckled with a sardonic smirk as Harry used it to conjure without any resistance.

All laughter left immediately after the Auror began stroking him again and was replaced by gasping moans. " _Better_ ," he squeaked. "That's better... Marginally."

He panted, gripping Harry's shoulders tight. The hand on his hip was near crushing and prevented him from thrusting with abandon (though he still tried).

******

Harry delighted in the sounds Draco was making, from the unrestrained noises of pleasure to the flippant commentary, even the wet squelch of his prick sliding between his fingers.

He was caged in by Draco's grip on his shoulders, legs around his thighs, and torso above him, but he didn't feel claustrophobic like he could sometimes. In fact, he kind of liked it.

Licking his lips, he increased the pace and robbed Draco of breath. He wondered just how virginal the gorgeous man really was and thought about asking him later, but decided to attempt a bit of dirty talk of his own to find out. He was curious to see how Draco liked a taste of his own potion.

"You look good with your prick in my hand, Draco," he drawled, voice low and gravely. He felt vaguely embarrassed saying it but Draco's tiny gasp of response was plenty motivational.

He released Draco's hip to begin unbuttoning his own shirt with his off-hand, maintaining the tempo of his right with little difficulty (he'd always been good at split-mind tasks). He finished off the buttons and opened his shirt to expose his chest and abdomen--scarred and lightly furred, but not unappealing, he knew.

"You're going to come on me soon," he rumbled. "I can feel it. Your prick is so hard for me and your pretty body is going tense. It won't be long now."

His smirk turned into a feral grin as a hint of possessive jealousy crept into his words. "How many other blokes have done this for you, I wonder."

******

Draco's heart was thudding hard against his chest. Of course Harry-bloody-Potter would be that good at hand-jobs and even better at such rough, verbal seduction. For a second he thought he might come from Harry's words alone.

He stared, completely transfixed, as Harry undid his shirt, drinking his fill of the muscular chest and stomach on display before him. As he'd suspected, Harry's nipples were darker (like the rest of him) and a little large, but absolutely edible. He had to bite his lip until he knew it was bruised to keep from releasing that very second, wanting this to last as long as possible.

"You sound jealous," he half-murmured, half-moaned as his body began to writhe and twitch over Harry with the imminence of his climax. "No one... I've never done this with anyone except myself..."

******

_No one?! Merlin's tits._

Harry's prick was making a valiant effort at a comeback as he flushed with the knowledge that this was a first for both of them.

Draco panted and gasped above him, eyelids fluttering, bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth, hair a sweaty mess from the exertion (and Harry pawing at it), jumper rucked up to reveal a pale stretch of skin, and trousers undone just enough for him to get at his leaking prick.

Draco Malfoy, the bane of his adolescent existence (well, top 5, anyway), who'd just willingly and eagerly gone down on his knees to suck Harry off and now Harry was gladly working up a sweat to toss him off in return.

The world was a strange place.

He pushed his free hand under Draco's jumper to find one of his nipples. When he did, he gave it a hard pinch.

******

That was it. Draco couldn't take it anymore. As soon as that rough, burning hand touched his already stimulated nipple--standing erect beneath his shirt from wave after wave of delicious tingle that accompanied Harry's skillful tugging--he came.

Rather, he _exploded_ across Harry's bare torso with a hoarse cry of satisfaction.

His head lolled and his grip relaxed (having tightened until his perfectly manicured nails left crescent moon imprints in the Auror's taut skin through his top, he was sure). "Ha... Nn..." he breathed as he fell forward and laid his head against Harry's neck, hands dropping away limply.

"Holy _shit_ ," was about all he could manage by way of commentary through the harsh breaths he took. "Second... Second time today you nearly suffocated me..."

******

Harry chuckled heartily as Draco panted against his neck. He let his lube--and come-covered hand fall to the side but left the other under Draco's jumper to lightly pet at his waist, riding high on a wave of euphoria that felt bigger than the orgasm alone could account for.

"I think this confirms that I am more than slightly bent," he mused aloud.


	9. Presentation is everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the other half of chapter 8. Prinn and I got too carried away with the sex and the chapter would have been a behemoth if I didn't split it.

Draco slowly sat up and laughed. He licked his dried lips as he stared at Harry with a wicked grin.

"Yeah, maybe a bit. I'm not objecting."

He pressed their foreheads together and licked the Auror's nose.

"Well, we killed about ten minutes," he said lowly, so close that he couldn't actually focus on Harry's features, so he swam instead in a dazzling pool of green. "What will we do for the next forty? I'd like to get there at least ten minutes early to ensure our reservations. They're for my favourite room."

He lifted his head and tossed it to the side in an attempt to force his hair away from his face. He frowned as parts of it either didn't move, heavy from sweat, or fell right back into place over his eyes.

He gave up with an annoyed huff.

"I suggest," he continued in a sultry tone as he leaned forward to bite Harry's jaw just below his ear, "that we continue our snogging session. Now that we're both sated, our cocks shouldn't be too much of a factor, and if they become one we can just sixty-nine them back into submission. Or mutual wanking. Or I could introduce you to some of my toys. One of them vibrates into your perineum while it fucks you--it's charmed to thrust on its own until you command it to stop."

******

Harry nudged Draco away from his ticklish neck and leaned back so he could look him in the face to gauge his level of sincerity. There was just no telling with the gutter-minded tease.

"Are you _really_ that insatiable," he demanded, eyes narrowed, "or are you having me on?"

If Draco was being honest... Godrick. That could be a blessing as well as a curse. Harry was not ready for magic sex toys.

******

"Oh, I'm being completely serious. Why do you think I haven't bothered to tuck myself away? Or you, for that matter," Draco spoke casually as he shuffled about until both their flaccid pricks were laying side by side in their laps. He snuggled in nice and close after pulling Harry out from under him, which caused their pricks to be squished between their torsos. He hugged Harry's neck tight and pecked at his lips while deliberately rubbing their hips together.

Having his desire satisfied left him feeling energized and needy for more (versus Harry's post-orgasm languor, which apparently left him tired and lazy). He was already licking his way into the Auror's partly open mouth.

"Let's see how quickly I can get us hard again. Do you think you could handle another round?"

******

Harry groaned and twined his tongue with Draco's for a single, deep kiss, pulling back after a few seconds to talk.

"If you wanted this to be about more than sex," he murmured, clasping Draco's wiry bicep, "this maybe isn't the best way to go about it. Not that I'm complaining," he hastened to amend.

Truly, he'd just as soon cancel their reservation and spend the time in Draco's bed instead, but he was trying--with dubious success--not to let his libido get the better of him. If Draco continued to grind for very much longer, however, it would be a lost cause.

******

Draco immediately stopped rocking, heaving a regretful sigh. He stared hard at Harry as he slowly moved to crawl from his lap--cock still hanging out below his rumpled jumper.

"It's your fault for making it so hard, you know," he informed Harry (with a chuckle at his unintentional innuendo) as he regarded the man below him. Harry was covered in smeared cum and his cock half-hard from Draco's ministrations. He brushed his hair back to distract his mind from noting exactly _how much_ he wanted the handsome, disheveled Auror again.

Draco blinked as something about the mess suddenly clicked.

The blonde looked down sharply and found his outfit was stained significantly, and bodily fluids were not easy to get out. Not that he would have _scourgified_ the turtleneck--the material was too delicate.

"I have to change," he sighed dejectedly. "Should only take a minute." (There was no way that was true.)

He extricated himself from Harry's lap and walked briskly to the stairs that led to the bedroom.

"The loo is down the hall to the right," he added over his shoulder, assuming Harry would want to wash up, as well.

******

Draco looked so comically sad over the mess he'd made of his clothes that Harry couldn't help but laugh--the man had (quite literally) brought it on himself, after all.

He remained on the sofa while Draco trudged upstairs, feeling lazy enough to consider casting a cleaning charm on himself (but they just weren't as reliable as good old fashioned soap and water). Forcing himself up with great effort, he made his way to the loo, thinking he'd have a look around while he was in there.

The room was large, with a deep tub, glass walled walk-in shower, and expansive counter top, all done in black with white accents and shiny silver fixtures. It was pristine--not a single thing out on the counter. It could have been a hotel bathroom, for all that it appeared no one used it.

He peeked in the drawers but found nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual toiletries (or rather, expensive, luxury versions of the usual toiletries), which he used to clean himself up.

No longer sticky with spit, sweat, lube, and drying come, he straightened his clothes and attempted to coax some manner of style into his hair, giving it up for a bad job after a few pointless tries.

He hoped that by the time their reservation rolled around he wouldn't look still so thoroughly shagged.

******

Draco came out with just 15 minutes remaining before their reservation, wearing a set of light-weight pale blue robes. He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it one last time, quickly shutting his bedroom door before descending the short staircase.

"Are you ready?"

******

Harry looked up from the book he'd been skimming to pass the time ( _Tropical Storm_ , 'Morias's' third) to find Draco flowing down the stairs in what appeared to be blue silk. With his hair combed, shiny and loose, and a pink tinge to his lips and cheeks, he bore more than a passing resemblance to Narcissa.

It was somewhat jarring.

"Ready," he answered after clearing his throat. Focusing on Draco's masculine features, he reminded himself of the many things that differentiated mother and son, not the least of which was the fact Draco was the only one he wanted to have sex with...

******

"I'll be apparating us there," Draco announced as he moved to take and then tug Harry's arm toward the door. Upon finding the handle loose and the portal unwarded--the result of his lust-induced carelessness--he stood frozen in shock and burgeoning panic.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, stiffening with concern.

Draco tried valiantly to collect himself for the sake of his date. "I left the door unlocked for the first time in my entire life," he murmured shakily as they stepped through.

Once it closed behind them, he threw spell after locking spell at it, as if to make up for his earlier blunder.

Pretending calm he didn't feel, he turned a smirk of playful accusation on Harry. "See? I told you that you mess with my brain. You're too sexy."

He grabbed the man's arm again before he could respond and side-along Apparated them to the entrance of the restaurant.


	10. The Garden Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good gracious, Life has kicked me in the teeth lately. Thanks to you, dear readers, and Prinn for being so patient with me. 
> 
> Finally and without further ado--a new chapter!

Draco tried to laugh off the fact he'd forgotten to lock the door but Harry wasn't fooled--it was obvious it had rattled him. Harry almost said there was nothing to worry about as long as he was there to protect him, but it seemed far too early for that kind of statement--if things didn't progress beyond that night, it would just be cruel.

To his displeasure, Draco apparated them without warning while he was mid-thought.

"Gimme a heads up next time, yeah?" he frowned, battling against the vertigo of unexpected apparation.

The worst of it passed after a small handful of moments. He shook off the rest and took a good look at their surroundings.

******

"I was excited?" Draco offered with a cheeky grin and only a hint of genuine apology. Harry rolled his eyes.

With its sleek white wall and curvy sign, _Favourable_ appeared as any other upscale restaurant would from the outside. The whole street, at first blush, seemed almost like Diagon Alley--and in a way it was, only far more expensive. There were shops, of course, including a chocolatier Draco occasionally frequented and an owlery down the street that he knew housed only Eagle owls. And all of Wizarding London's best fashion houses were crammed along the narrow alley (much larger on the inside with the judicious application of wizardspace).

A young man held the heavy door of the restaurant open for them. Draco let go of Harry's arm, figuring he might not care for a lingering grip, and instead waved his date in ahead of him.

"You'll love the Garden Room," he promised, a bubble of excitement lending a musical lilt to his voice. "Looks like Eden and is completely private beyond the staff.

"We can explore after if you like," he added, indicating the street Harry was busy observing (whether for the sheer novelty of it or signs of possible danger, Draco wasn't sure). "If we have time." It was already nightfall.

******

Harry took in the sights of the high-end shopping district while Draco spoke. It had only been developed in the years since the war, a haven for snobs who didn't want to sully their feet with the common folk in Diagon. He'd been to a couple of the restaurants for Ministry functions and had made some owl orders from the shops but he wasn't overly familiar with the place, otherwise. He didn't care for the 'refined' atmosphere. But he understood the appeal of a private dining experience. Especially for Draco. (And differently for him; he probably wouldn't have agreed to the date if their privacy hadn't been assured.)

At Draco's prompting, he entered the restaurant with his dinner companion close on his heels. He looked around the space as they were escorted through it and came to feel underdressed and out of place--as far as he could tell, he was the only person not wearing hand-tailored robes. Rather than making him embarrassed, however, it only served to heighten his level of indignation.

Just as a sneer was beginning to form on his face, he caught Draco looking worriedly at him. He quickly tamped down on his negative emotions and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "I am looking forward to dinner and your company," he said (mostly honestly), quietly enough that only Draco could hear.

******

Draco nodded in response, though the growing feeling of trepidation wouldn't leave him. Everything seemed like it could be the beginning of the end, and suddenly he regretted not asking to have dinner at some muggle place that would be more toward Harry's tastes. He shook his head as they turned a corner and stood before the doors of the Garden Room.

_This is a huge part of me. It will always be a part of my life in one way or another. If he doesn't appreciate it..._

He stood tall with his chin held high as the hostess opened the doors and smirked to himself in triumph. _No way he could hate this,_ Draco thought confidentially as he strode forward to the only table in the room, an antique pearl-coloured dining suite with matching champagne trolley.

As pretty as the Victorian carvings in the old wood were, the table was nothing compared to the plant-life surrounding it. Everything--from Hawaiian Hibiscus to lavender and lilacs--was in bloom and left the space smelling fresh and sweet.

"Stay on the path," he instructed, pointing down to the winding gravel below them. "It's suffocatingly hot outside it. But feel free if you want a closer look at the plants."

******

The Garden Room stopped Harry in his tracks.

No wonder Draco liked it so much. Godrick, it was breathtaking. More beautiful even than one of Neville's greenhouses because the lush display of flowers and greenery was thoughtfully arranged for best effect (whereas Nev's unruly plants tended to grow as they willed).

The temperature inside was perfectly pleasant and the air fragrant without being cloying. An artificial stream burbled merrily along one side. The table set in the middle of it all was pretty, but not overwrought. Honestly, the food could be rubbish and he'd still probably have a decent enough time just looking at everything.

He didn't expect the food to be rubbish.

Draco turned to him for a reaction and Harry let his appreciation shine through unfiltered. "I like it," he grinned.

******

"You _like_ it?" Draco repeated with an incredulous smirk. "Just  like? Really?"

He playfully huffed and moved to settle into his usual chair, the one just below an overhanging palm. He crossed his arms and turned away, his eyes obviously averted with dramatized offense.

"I take you someplace _fabulous_ , and of course you only 'like' it."

******

"You're ruddy impossible to please, you know that?" Harry returned with the same tone of (mostly) fake irritation. "Here I am venturing out of my comfort zone for you--on short notice, I might add--and I'm expected to, what, grovel at your feet for introducing me to this fine dining establishment?"

He took the seat across from Draco and put his forearms on the table, decorum be damned. He leaned forward on to them in order to be closer to his date when he proclaimed, "I think you just like being difficult."

******

Draco turned back and stuck his tongue out at Harry as childishly as possible. He then sat properly in his chair and scooted close to the table.

"Maybe," he replied petulantly (the delivery softened with a wink). In a seductive tone of voice, he added, "I don't think getting on your knees would be a good idea here as we are trying to keep things clean. Maybe _after_ dinner..."

He turned his attention to the menus without waiting for Harry's reply. There were three for each person: one solely for drinks (unneeded, as he had already ordered champagne, which sat upon the trolley in ice), one for dinner, and lastly... One that was four pages of nothing but chocolate. Chocolate desserts, chocolate liqueurs, and chocolate add-ons, all in variations of dark, milk, malt, and white. He chose to put that one under his elbow for now as he explored the dinner menu, considering the meals he hadn't tried yet (which were quite a few; he didn't often come for dinner, it was more about the ambiance).

******

"Maybe after dinner," Harry echoed in a husky rumble, seriously considering it.

He followed Draco's lead and turned to the menus. When he saw that there was one devoted exclusively to chocolate, he wondered if there had been any validity to the story Ron told earlier about one of Draco's suitors being dumped over his disdain for the confection. If so, it was fortunate for him the chocolate lava cake was calling his name.

He opened up the dinner menu and was overwhelmed by the options.

"What do you like here?" he asked to winnow the search.

******

"I usually order the lemon shrimp with quinoa," Draco replied conversationally. "You'd probably like something heavier, though. Like the Poulet Basquaise. It's a hearty chicken stew. Classic comfort food."

He dipped into a perfect French accent as he spoke the name of the dish and flipped a page in the menu without seeming to notice it.

"You know," he announced, "I may skip the meal and jump straight to dessert."

******

Draco's French sounded fluent and effortless. Harry'd always been rubbish at foreign languages.

_So he's just going to order dessert, is he? Hm..._

He scanned the menu and considered doing the same but Hermione's voice in his head told him he needed to eat a balanced dinner. For some dumb reason.

"The stew sounds good," he decided after a brief contemplation. "Will you be bored watching me eat if I get that and dessert?"

******

Draco chuckled and slowly licked the edge of his mouth as he stared into Harry's bright green eyes. He put down his dinner menu and replaced it with the one filled with chocolate delights.

"I suppose I could live if you were to eat more than me," he began casually. "But only if you'll let me feed you dessert."

******

Harry cleared his throat. Had he somehow found himself in one of Draco's torrid stories? It was beginning to seem plausible.

That thought led directly to another disconcerting one: was any of this going to make it into a future book? They'd have to talk about that--he wasn't entirely comfortable with the notion.

"How about we revisit the issue after I've had my dinner?" he suggested pragmatically.

******

Draco sighed and shrugged, already knowing he had been rejected. Harry's job required that he remain cool and unreadable, but every now and then Draco caught certain nuances in his appearances that made it easy for him to figure out the reticent man. Like the way his lips wouldn't quite lift in his smile or his eyes would flash with something related to irritation or concern.

"What's wrong?" he bravely queried. "You're either annoyed at me or worried about something, or both. What did I do?"

******

Draco positively wilted before Harry's eyes. He put on a brave front but his fidgeting hands (fluttering when he spoke and playing with the edge of his napkin when he was still) betrayed his anxiety.

 _Merlin, he's as touchy as a memory potion_ , Harry groused internally, annoyed both at himself for setting Draco off and Draco for being so sensitive. He worked hard to keep that annoyance off his face, however; Draco was watching him closely.

"I'm not annoyed at you," he lied. "I'm figuring this out as I go along. A lot of it is unfamiliar and unintuitive for me." That much was true. He glanced at a plump, red flower hanging from a tree as he thought about how to proceed. He decided to go with an analogy.

"I'd never had pumpkin juice before I got to Hogwarts," he said, looking back at Draco's open, fretful expression. "The idea of it sounded disgusting when I first heard about it. But other people liked it and it was around at every meal so I decided to give it a try. It was a bit of an acquired taste, but it's one of my favourite beverages to this day."

He turned his right hand palm up on the table, extending physical comfort to Draco if he wanted it. "I don't yet know if I'd enjoy you feeding me or me going down on you or, Godrick, any number of things we might do together. Right now I'm still getting used to the idea of a lot of them. Others I already know have the potential to become my favourite." He deliberately leered for a second to let Draco know just what he meant before returning to earnestness.

"Can you be patient with me while I work on figuring it all out?"

******

Draco slipped his hand into Harry's almost too easily. His slender fingers danced across the Auror's pulse before gently gripping his wrist and squeezing. Everything Harry said made sense and felt far more comforting than he expected. He breathed a long sigh and smirked--much more confidently this time.

"And this is exactly why I want to take things slow... Despite my libido demanding otherwise," he chuckled. "Nice metaphor, by the way," he added as an aside. "Since when are you so clever?"

******

Harry grinned, pleased and relieved to have successfully navigated those treacherous waters. "I've always been clever," he asserted. "It's just hard to notice when I'm standing next to Hermione."

He squeezed Draco's hand once and withdrew his arm.

"How do we place our order?" he asked, more than ready to move on to the next phase of their dinner.

******

"You say the magic words-- _'we're'_ or _'I'm'_ and _'ready'_ \--and a member of the waitstaff comes," Draco answered as he placed his menus aside for pick-up. "I know what I want so go ahead at your leisure. Oh, and be careful of what dessert you order. They're all delicious, but unless approached carefully some are messier than others. Their Fireworks Tart is a chocolate tart with a bit of lime and sparkling chocolate powder. And by sparkling I don't mean glitter. You have to wait until the powder calms down or it'll explode, but the display is really quite beautiful. It looks exactly like miniature fireworks."

******

Harry was charmed by the idea but he wouldn't be dissuaded from his earlier selection.

"I'm getting the lava cake," he declared, adding his menus to Draco's pile. "A la mode. And I'm going to eat protein and veg as a formality first because you aren't supposed to live on sugar alone." He raised a pointed brow.

"You should at least consider having some of mine. You're going to need your strength if we're to keep up the ambitious level of shagging you have planned," he smirked, then added, " _I'm ready_." He licked his lips, laying the innuendo on thick.

******

A shiver ran down Draco's spine at those words, and again at the husky way Harry called for the help. Within seconds a young waitress appeared and they placed their orders, Draco deciding to add a chowder to his selection--heavy with fish and clams. Once the girl (who'd been oddly cold and impatient towards him...probably jealous of his date) was gone he offered Harry a grin.

He stood up and pulled his outer robes off, setting them over the back of his chair. Underneath he wore a white dress-shirt, a black waistcoat that hugged his mid-section, and black slacks.

"I am going for a quick walk about the garden before dinner to build up my appetite... And distract myself so I don't jump you," he winked. "I'll be back."

******

Harry felt a small thrill of satisfaction and...something else...over convincing Draco to have some real food with his dessert. He hoped that his specific line of argumentation was the deciding factor, and that it held promise for later.

Draco stood and shed his robes. What he wore underneath was a significant improvement in Harry's opinion. The shirt and slacks were somewhat reminiscent of their Hogwarts days but the colors had always suited him. The waistcoat, however, distinguished the outfit as that of a man rather than a boy. It emphasized Draco's long lines and slim waist and lent an air of sophistication to the ensemble. Harry wanted to pop the buttons open right then and there.

What he did instead was offer to take a turn about the garden with Draco.

"You can show me all the best spots," he suggested. "And I will keep my hands to myself...If you want me to, that is," he grinned.

******

"Hmm, I don't know... Sounds dangerous." Draco felt his cheeks burn a little, but it only lasted for a second as he took a long, controlled breath. He shrugged nonchalantly as much as he could, considering the smile he was suppressing. "I suppose it wouldn't be terrible... I've walked these grounds so many times I could probably draw a map."

He stepped to the edge of the path and away, turning to crook an inviting finger and a smirk to Harry before disappearing into the thick foliage.

******

Harry rose quickly to follow. Draco had turned his innocent (mostly innocent) suggestion into a game and his heart kicked up a pace in response, the way it used to before Quidditch.

Now that he thought about it, a lot of the responses Draco stirred up in him were reminiscent of their younger years, making them both familiar and exciting.

As he rounded the corner to close in on his prey, he noted smugly that Draco hadn't told him to keep his hands to himself.


	11. Caught in a Snare

Draco smirked over his shoulder for a split second before speeding up and jerking around the next corner. There was a brick wall covered in vines and clinging flowers, which he ducked around before attempting to disappear behind a pair of yellow flutterby bushes. An accidental nudge, or rather a delicate brush of his fingers as he passed, set the flowers into motion.

On the ceiling above, all over the ground, and in every possible nook and cranny there was some colourful and exotic plant or flower to be seen. Draco was careful not to trample the delicate blooms, but equally intent not to be easy prey for his pursuer. The warmth of the garden was already leaving a thin sheen of sweat on his skin.

******

Draco was nowhere in sight. Just jewel-toned leaves and hundreds of flowers in a riot of colours as far as the eye could see. Harry spied a promising-looking wall, however, and a flutterby bush quivering madly because _someone_ had recently been by. Lengthening his stride and laughing on an exhale, he hurried to follow after--

Something snagged his ankle as he passed, nearly sending him sprawling. It wrapped a tight, thick coil around his lower calf and pulled tight. Whatever it was was tenacious, grabbing for his left wrist and thigh, and squeezing mercilessly when he tried to pull free.

He locked down the instinctive panic that urged him to struggle, making himself calm and still. There was only one plant that behaved like that and it was Devil's Snare. It would only hold tighter the more he fought it.

 _Whose bright idea was it to put such a dangerous plant in a restaurant?_ he scowled, assessing the clinging tendril's grip. A sickening thought occurred to him. What if Draco had put it there? Had all of this been a ruse to exact some kind of slow-burning revenge?

No. It wasn't possible. Not unless Draco was the world's greatest actor, and even then he would have a hard time accepting it: Draco was just too sincere for him to believe he would try to hurt him like that.

 _Someone else, then_ , Harry decided, mind turning furiously through possible scenarios.

The next question was: had whoever left the plant done so ignorantly or was it a deliberate trap. If the latter, who was it meant for?

Shit. What if it was someone trying to hurt Draco? The same attacker from before, even.

Panic threatened once again but Harry stomped it out.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he shook his wand out of his forearm holster. The plant gripped harder and twined higher, but not enough to prevent him from casting a tightly controlled flagrante at its roots. It shiriveled and died with a whimper, releasing him. He shook off the hanging tendrils and took off at a run after Draco, wand held at the ready.

Two more Devils attacked him in what appeared to be Draco's wake, perhaps having become alert after he ran past. He fought them off with little difficulty, eventually catching up to Draco, who sat beneath the low-hanging curtain of a willow tree.

******

The shade of the tree provided little shelter from the heat. Draco had one leg crossed over the other and his hands behind his head, cushioning it from the unyielding bark of the tree. There was likely to be a patch of dirt beneath him, but the concern for his trousers was temporarily nixed (Harry wouldn't care, except maybe to make a silly remark, and his robes would hide it from the rest of the world). He was smiling at first when he noticed Harry, but that quickly turned to concern upon noting the man's heavy breathing and serious expression.

"Are you all right?" he asked earnestly, then, attempting humour to diffuse whatever trouble was brewing, "Is the garden heat too much for the battle-hardened Auror?"

******

Harry ran straight up to Draco so he could see his face (and read whatever subtle nuances might be there). He held his wand at his side--ready in case he needed it but hopefully not too threatening if he didn't. Draco's casual pose and attitude suggested that he wasn't the one who'd left the traps, though if he really was a master actor, such artifice wouldn't be difficult to pull off.

Watching him closely for so much as a _twitch_ of guilt, Harry replied, "It's not the heat. It's the three full-grown Devil's Snares I had to fight off between here and there."

******

Panic, confusion, and shock instantly went off like sharp bells, all at once clamoring for attention inside Draco's head.

"Devil's Snares?" he repeated incredulously, moving quickly to stand. "Are you certain? There shouldn't be anything like that here! The environment alone wouldn't sustain them and they're dangerous... Why would--?"

That was when he noticed what was in Harry's hand: his wand. Held at the defensive, tight at his side. And he was giving Draco such an intense, pointed look that his befuddlement (fear and sadness) immediately morphed into rage.

" _I_ didn't set them up!" he snapped, teeth gnashing. "I'm trying to **date** you! I know we haven't spent that much time together, but I would think you'd know--" he choked on an almost-sob, but swallowed it down along with whatever else he was going to say. "Forget it. I'm getting the manager and sorting this shit out."

He pushed past Harry, none too gently.

_Fan-fucking-tastic! Even here I have something to worry about... I would like just **one place** to go where people don't try and kill me, spit on me, curse me, or at least to avoid dirty looks._

"Devil's Snare can't live in intense, tropical conditions," he muttered to himself, crunching along the gravel with heavy footfalls and sporting an unattractive rouge about his cheeks. "It would have died within hours. This was either intentional or they have a new gardener with the brain size of a shrivel fig! Either way, I intend to find out."

******

" _Draco_ ," Harry called after him.

No response.

"Draco, stop!"

He jogged to catch up and stopped his irate dinner companion with a hand on his arm. "Just listen to me, okay?"

Draco glared but didn't try to escape. Good.

"First off," Harry said tersely, "there's no telling what danger might await you out there so I don't want you leaving without me, got it?"

Draco's glare intensified. Harry sighed.

"Secondly, just take a minute to think about how the situation looked to me, yeah?" he entreated, rubbing small circles with his thumb on Draco's bicep. "I was fairly certain you weren't the one behind the attack but I had to be sure. I am now, so let's get to the bottom of this together. Please?"

******

Draco didn't take the time to think about it. He didn't have to.

It was perfectly Slytherin, really, to lure an old rival through a maze of potentially-lethal plants. Especially if that Slytherin was a one-time Death Eater and said old rival was the Saviour. That didn't mean it hurt any less, though. Draco had hoped those labels didn't influence them any longer, but apparently they still did. For Harry, at least.

It was understandable. Having spent years apart, of course all Harry knew was who Draco had been. He hadn't had a lot of time with him as he was now. Still, Draco had hoped...

He gave a defeated sigh and looked away, but at least his glare had disappeared.

"Yes, fine. I get it." _Can't be too careful with Draco Malfoy_ , he added in his head without bothering to hide the sting of it (unvoiced to avoid an argument). "Whatever. Let's just--"

What it was he had thought to add disappeared as his eyes went wide until they were as round as saucers. He had been shuffling in place as his agitation vibrated down from his brain to his limbs in an unconscious self-soothing attempt, but all went still when something began to crawl into his trouser leg and wrap tight around his ankle up to his calf.

"...How many did you say you destroyed?" he squeaked.

******

"Eyes closed, Draco," Harry calmly ordered.

The moment he complied, Harry cast a powerful _Lumos Maxima_. It filled the garden with blinding white light, so bright he had to shield his own eyes against it. The plant that had grabbed Draco--and was about to wrap its spongy tentacles around him, as well--shrieked and curled in on itself defensively.

As soon as Draco was safely free of it, Harry burned the vile thing to a crisp, badly singeing the flowers next to it in the process. He didn't care; he was bloody sick of those Devils and whoever put them there.

They needed to get out, and fast. But first:

"You all right?" he asked solicitously, checking Draco over for injuries.

******

Draco, trembling, sought for calm in his reply. "Yes, but... But full grown Devil's Snares aren't easy to come by," he answered as steadily as he could. "Especially not in this quantity. There are only three sources in the country, including your Longbottom, which makes me think the person who planted these must have acquired a pod. So we should expect between five and seven in total." He exhaled heavily, finding comfort in old facts, and shook his leg to rid his skin of the creepy-crawly feeling of the vine. "In other words, there could be at least a few more... And that's if they only had one pod."

He took the liberty of grabbing Harry's free arm and carefully moved to escort him back out the way they came.

"And this date had been going so well," he huffed. "Now I'm sticky with sweat, hungry, craving chocolate more than ever, and someone out there is trying to hurt you or me or both...Though," he paused mid-step and turned to Harry. "No one knew I was bringing you. Hell, no one knows we're dating, do they?"

His eyes widened again, heart racing like a frantic rabbit.

"That means it _couldn't_ have been for you..."

******

"Take a breath," Harry prompted, placing his hands on Draco's shoulders and using the calm, no-nonsense tone he reserved for a victim or witness (even an Auror, on occasion) on the verge of panic.

"If there are more plants, we will deal with them. For now, let's focus on getting out of here." He gave Draco's shoulders a squeeze and dropped his hands to his sides (never releasing his wand, of course).

"As far as I'm concerned," he offered, leading them down the path, "this date isn't over unless you want it to be. I need a few minutes to be an Auror since your case just went from cold to active, but as soon as I've got this sorted, we can go back to your place or mine, you can have a shower, and we can pick up where we left off. How does that sound?" he asked with a winsome half-smile.

******

Draco gave a small answering smile and nodded his consent, though his brows remained drawn in concern. He moved forward while he had the chance and hugged Harry around the neck.

"One advantage to dating a shorter man is the easy fit," he chuckled into Harry's ear. He let go a second later and jerked his thumb forward. "All right, Mister Auror. Escort me. Just keep heading straight and turn right when you can."

******

Harry raised both brows at Draco and pursed his lips (though he wasn't all that bothered, really.) "You know what I love on a date?" he asked sarcastically, then answered without pause, "Being called short."

Draco snorted, unabashed.

"Come on then, you towering giant," Harry urged, keeping Draco behind him and scanning for danger. He led them quickly through the dense vegetation.

There was another bloody Devil's Snare near the wall that separated the table from the main garden. He torched it from a safe distance.

"Almost there," he announced as they rounded the final curve, ready for whatever might await them.

Nothing, hopefully...

******

"I'll tell you one thing," Draco declared, panting slightly in his effort to keep up with Harry, "the management is getting an earful. There is only one way Devil's Snare could have gotten past their security measures and that's through the staff."

Speaking of, there was their meal, waiting innocently at the table as it came into view. Draco eyed it with disdain as if it were poisoned... And it very well might be.

"Let's get out of here and go to your place," he put forward, eager for the relative safety of Harry's heavy wards and the privacy of his home. "You have food, right?"

******

"I have food," Harry smirked. He had a well-stocked pantry, in fact.

He sent a patronus to Savage requesting an investigative and containment crew come to the restaurant post haste. He then marched to the back of the house demanding to see management. Amidst gawking patrons, a harried-looking wizard with an absurd pencil mustache rushed out to meet them.

*****

...

Despite Harry's soothing comforts, when the restaurant manager appeared Draco was absolutely livid and ready to throw around words like "lawsuit", "health inspector", and "Unforgivables", but he held back. Somehow Harry's dangerous calm felt far more effective than _his_ usual brand of threats and complaints. He crossed his arms tightly and glared icy death at the man as Harry went into full Auror mode.

The manager ignored Draco completely (the bastard!) and focused entirely on the commanding presence of the Hero. He nodded, bowed, and practically sobbed--far too dramatically for it to be sincere--his apologies. By the end of it, nearly a half-hour later, Draco was rolling his eyes and huffing angrily, as if he could breathe fire like his namesake.

 _Whatever. You are in charge of the restaurant and responsible for the garden, and you are to whom my solicitors will be sent. Along with the owners of this pit!_ he silently vowed before finally loosening his arms. He jerked his head away and moved to step outside. He had left his robes by the table with no intention of retrieving them.

"I will be at the chocolatier next door when you're finished," he called to Harry over his shoulder. "I need sustenance from a place that isn't trying to kill me."

******

"Hang on a minute," Harry replied, urging Draco to stay. "I'm nearly done here. I just need to make the hand off to Savage when he arrives and then we can go together."

" _You rang?_ " the selfsame Auror quipped, strolling into the manager's office with a small squad in tow.

Harry made short work of filling him in on the relevant details and turning the sniveling restaurateur over to his more than capable colleagues.

Draco slouched against the wall, looking irritated and bored.

"Come on, you," Harry said to him, making to leave.

"Hold up, Potter," Savage interrupted, sounding mildly surprised. "Where're you going with the victim?"

Harry froze. He hadn't planned on outing himself midway into the catastrophe that was their first date. Then again, he hadn't planned on getting attacked by murderous plants either.

"I have a dinner to finish," he said simply. With that, he took Draco by the arm and apparated them home.


	12. Just Desserts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Smutty smut smut.

"You remember where the loo is," Harry announced upon their arrival at Grimmauld, stepping a respectable distance away from Draco as he did so. "If you still want to shower, any toiletries you might need should be in there, along with some decent reading material." He smirked at the private joke. "I'm going to make myself useful in the kitchen. Feel free to join me now or when you've finished."

******

Despite the interlude with management, Draco was sweaty from running around the garden fearing for his life. Well, more like glistening (profusely) as Malfoys did not _sweat_. If anyone was sweaty, it was Harry, who'd exerted himself even more than Draco fighting off all those Devils.

He grabbed the Auror's hand as he attempted to escape into the kitchen and offered him a mischievous smirk. "Your idea has merit, but I have a different one," he countered, jerking Harry forward so their chests bumped. His free hand clasped his companion by the back of his neck and he leaned forward with a quirked brow of challenge. "You're a right mess, Auror Potter... I could smell you the whole time you were speaking to that idiot, Marcel.

"Not that your musk isn't," he leaned in and licked the edge of Harry's jaw, " _intoxicating_ , but you definitely need a shower. And I refuse to remain sticky. So... What shall we do about this need for both of us to get clean?"

******

Harry's prick leaped eagerly at Draco's sultry tone and proposition. Though his stomach was threatening to digest itself, dinner could wait. (Life-and-death situations--even relatively benign ones like earlier--tended to leave him hot and bothered; he couldn't even count how many hasty wanks he'd had in the Ministry loos.)

He tilted his head to capture Draco's lips in a kiss and began walking him backwards in the direction of the stairs.

"Are you _sure_ you want to go through the bother of showering now when I intend to make you sweat later this evening?" he asked lowly, giving Draco a wolfish grin.

******

"Mm," Draco returned Harry's kiss and added a flick of his tongue across his thin upper lip. He smirked again, with teeth this time, and began to slowly unbutton Harry's once nice shirt. It had practically melted into the man's strong pecs and biceps from their 'stroll' through the garden.

"Something about you when you're acting so protective and heroic just gets my blood flowing," he replied, voice like whiskey. "Then again, much of what you do has that effect on me," he chuckled, deep and dark.

"I want to see you naked," he answered simply. "I want to wash you. And then, after we eat, I plan to enjoy every second of making you dirty once again. And if you're _very_ good I might let you reciprocate."

******

Harry rumbled his approval and caged Draco in between himself and the wall nearest the stairs. He pulled Draco's hands off his now loose-hanging shirt and pinned them over his head, kissing down the side of his pale neck and biting (none-too-gently) where it joined his shoulder.

Draco bucked at the pain and Harry met his pelvis with his own, grinding their erections together and reveling in the spine-tingling sensation of another man's prick. What was happening between them felt nothing like being with a woman--it was hard and sharp and aggressively demanding and, Godrick, he was loving it.

"I could come just from listening to you talk," he rasped against the side of Draco's face, squeezing his wrists tight and dragging his body up Draco's length. "If we don't go to the loo right now, there will be an even bigger mess to clean when we finally do make it."

******

Draco spread his legs to give Harry more room and gloated, "I have been told I am far too sexy for my own good."

Despite his haughty tone, his eyes were rings of mercury around pupils blown wide with lust.

He bucked hard enough against Harry to jar him away from his hips, surprising the Auror sufficiently enough to free his hands . Draco gripped Harry's waist and quickly turned him toward the stairs.

"Lead on, then," he urged. "Before I ruin another pair of trousers because of you!"

******

Laughing breathlessly, slightly giddy, Harry took Draco by the hand and pulled him along, mounting the steps two at a time. When they reached the end of the hall, he hustled Draco into the loo and shut the door behind them.

The room wasn't large, so it was fortunate that neither one of them was much interested in personal space just then. Maneuvering around Draco, Harry adjusted the taps so the water would start heating (the plumbing in Grimmauld Place was muggle, magically enhanced) and turned to attack the buttons of Draco's waistcoat.

******

Harry's shirt was obviously new--the remaining buttons resisted the holes until Draco grew frustrated, gripped both sides tight, and jerked the garment open with a pinging of plastic on the countertop and tiles of the floor. (One unfortunate button rolled down the sink basin and right into the drain.)

An intense look in his eyes over a wild smirk, he bent down to latch his mouth onto Harry's collarbone. His hands nearly broke the zipper of Harry's trousers in his growing agitation at the Auror's lack of nudity.

******

Harry thought about griping something along the lines of 'who's ruining whose clothes now?' but, honestly, he kind of liked it. He didn't think anyone had ever been that eager to get him naked...and Draco had had his prick in his mouth not two hours earlier! That didn't mean he wanted his nice slacks to be given the same rough treatment, however. He brushed Draco's fumbling hands aside and divested himself of trousers and pants in one fluid motion. He kicked them off along with his shoes, then set to work on Draco's shirt. With a bit of strategic teamwork, they were both completely starkers in short order.

Draco was...

Merlin, he was so fucking hot. Harry let his eyes roam greedily over Draco's body and felt a little lightheaded from the swift exodus of blood from his brain.

******

Draco bit his bottom lip as he took a step back to appreciate Harry now that he was fully on display. His firm chest and abdomen were just as mouth-watering as they had been earlier--tempting Draco to touch, lick, and even bite. Harry had strong, stocky legs, perfectly proportioned to the rest of him, and well-toned arms. All of him shone with drying perspiration.

When his eyes finally returned to Harry's, Draco was feeling particularly smug--and not just because his potential boyfriend and first true lover was incredibly good looking. Harry was staring at him like he was a steak to a man half-starved (which he rather was at that point, given their interrupted meal).

"Like what you see?" he asked cockily, curving his body sinuously around the awed Auror on his way to the shower. (He kept a small distance, lest he be suddenly dragged into the bedroom and prematurely deflowered.)

******

Stepping over the side of the tub to join Draco in the curling steam, Harry fired back, "What does it look like?" He flexed his arse and angled his hips so that his flushed prick stood almost parallel to his body.

Yes, he really did.

Draco's body was opposite to his in almost every way. Where Harry was short and broad, Draco was long and slender; almost skinny, but with enough lean muscle to lend him some masculine definition. Harry's tongue itched to taste those peaks and valleys.

While his complexion was rough and dark, with equally dark hair sprouting on his legs, forearms, chest, and abdomen (narrowing and becoming more dense the lower it trailed), Draco's skin was soft and porcelain, and it looked virtually hairless below his neck except for the small patches of dark blond in his armpits and at the base of his prick.

His _prick_. Godrick. Harry stared and felt no shame it in. It jutted from Draco's body at a forty-five degree angle, shiny and hard and begging to be touched.

...So he did.

He reached out and curled his fingers tightly around the shaft--comparable in girth to his own but looking thicker on Draco's slim frame--and tugged, stretching the velvety skin up and down an inch or so rather than sliding over the top of it.

Oh, but he wanted _wet_. And slippery. To really move.

He reached behind himself to pull the tab that diverted water to the shower head and stepped into the spray.

******

Draco leaned back against the tiled wall as his cock was touched. He grabbed Harry's wrist, but not to push away or direct, just holding onto him as he watched his lover stroke him.

When Harry pulled away after a minute, Draco held fast and let himself be tugged under the water, finally releasing the Saviour only to hog the shower spray. He bumped his hip against Harry's to make room.

"This isn't nearly hot enough," he complained. In spite of his words, he began to scrub his now golden hair instead of attempting to fuss with the taps. He did spare another glance towards Harry's dripping body, though. He openly leered and his lip was once again caught between his teeth.

"Well, who knew Harry Potter Sex Auror was such a delectable sight in steaming water?"

******

Harry laughed, warmth curling in his belly. "I don't think I mind that title as much I do all the rest," he mused aloud, picking up the bar of soap and working a rich lather between his hands. "I still wouldn't want to read it on the front page of the Prophet, though. Or Witch Weekly, more like."

Belying his complaint about the water temperature, Draco's fair skin began to pink almost immediately. His fine hair plastered to his skull--reminiscent of his adolescent style except in the length. Water dripped from his long eyelashes and the pointed tip of his nose and flowed down his body in rivulets that Harry wanted to follow with his tongue.

Draco monopolized the shower head unrepentantly, but Harry didn't mind over much. His showers tended to be brisk and utilitarian anyway. He scrubbed himself from head to foot, dedicating only a tiny fraction of his brain to the task. The rest was entirely focused on Draco.

******

Once he was satisfied that his hair and body were properly rinsed, Draco turned to Harry, intending to take the soap and wash himself until an idea struck.

He smiled with false-innocence as he curled his hands around the one Harry used to hold the sudsy oatmeal bar. He pecked Harry's wet lips and took the soap from him.

"Turn around and I'll scrub your back. _And_ your arse, if you ask nicely."

******

Harry was already done washing but he'd be a fool to turn down an offer like that. He faced the rear wall and ignored the shadow of unease he felt turning his back on another person. Although he trusted Draco not to harm him--and wasn't that a novel thought--he didn't like not being able to see or anticipate what might happen to him. In this case, though, he had a pretty fair idea of Draco's intent and it was something he wanted. Rather a lot.

Fizzy anticipation licked up his spine and made his fingers curl against the smooth tiled surface. He held his breath awaiting Draco's touch.

******

Draco leaned close enough to Harry's back for his body heat to be felt, or at least to cause a frisson of energy between them (as the water was hot enough to disguise any additional warmth).

He started not by bathing the Auror, but by kissing him: his neck, shoulders, and ears. Slowly. Teasingly. After he was certain Harry might snap (if his shaking form and heavy breathing were any indication), he lathered his hands and began to wash Harry's back--slipping his fingers in a soapy caress between his arsecheeks to see what kind of rise it would elicit.

One hand continued to wash the man's back, gliding smoothly over the knobs of his spine, as the other wrapped around Harry's waist and tugged gently at the trail of hair below his navel.

"You have so much," he murmured, almost in awe.

******

"So much what?" Harry asked on a shaky exhale.

He'd thought Draco's kisses were going to drive him up the wall, but they paled in comparison to his soapy hands sliding over the tense muscles of his back. He went rigid when Draco dragged his fingertips between his arsecheeks, unsure if he was interested in exploring any of that just yet (though the anxiety had been accompanied by an electric thrill at the intimate touch).

To his relief, Draco didn't linger, instead moving the flat of his palm back up Harry's spine and wrapping his other hand around Harry's front to card through the hair on his lower abdomen. His prick strained at the nearness of Draco's hand and he subconsciously widened his stance and canted his hips in silent plea, bracing his hands on the wall as he did so.

******

Draco used his chin to push back Harry's dripping mop until his lips had free access about the shell of his ear. His voice was a breathy whisper when he replied, "So much _hair_ ," and tugged at Harry's pubes once again. He let go of the black curls to slide lower and tease the edge of the Auror's erection, petting his jutting hipbone and the stretch of skin between cock and thigh.

"Want me to touch it, Harry?" he teased in a deep, husky voice. His free hand joined the other, curling around Harry's hip and down his thigh. "Want me to give you a tight hole to fuck?"

******

Harry might have whimpered.

He couldn't be entirely sure because almost everything was drowned out by the sound of the water spraying out of the shower head and the blood rushing in his skull. (The absolute filth Draco whispered directly into his ear was a notable exception.)

"Godrick, yes!" he choked, mindless with lust.

Rather than pushing his hips forward again (since that had only earned him a teasing brush of fingertips the last time), he thrust his arse backwards into Draco's crotch.

******

Draco gasped as he was thrust into. He bit Harry's ear in retaliation and thrust back--hard. He pressed Harry's chest into the shower wall as he grasped his hip tight to keep him place while his right hand gripped the Auror's hard, swollen cock; his own hard length slid between Harry's crease.

"Like that, pet?" he breathed as his hand tightened and began to stroke. "Tighter? Faster? How do you want it?"

******

 _Fuck_. Harry did like it. So much so that his bollocks drew up tight against his body (quickly enough to make him somewhat queasy) as he careened toward the precipice at a breakneck pace.

Draco wrapped around him possessively, mouthing his ear and fisting his cock and thrusting against his arse and owning every inch of him and, Godrick, Harry loved it. Usually he was the dominant one in the bedroom. If you had asked him an hour ago if he'd enjoy something like this, his answer would have been 'probably not.'

You learn something new every day.

He arched wantonly against Draco's cock, spreading his legs even wider, and groaned, "Like that. Just like that."

******

Draco squeezed a little tighter as his grip became slicker. The water from the shower and the heavy precum leaking from Harry's head proved to be effective lubricant, at least enough to allow firm, solid strokes without an unpleasant burn. His own cock stilled as he concentrated on Harry's, though the full length of it remained pressed from balls to head along the Auror's scalding crease.

"Come for me, Harry... I want to see you spray the wall..."

******

The caress of Draco's voice pushed Harry over the edge.

His neck flexed almost painfully, craning his head backwards into Draco's shoulder as his whole body bent like a bow. His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the slick tiles and he came on a hoarse cry, relying heavily on Draco's arms for support lest he crumple to the floor.

The orgasm itself was brief, but packed a punch. Two hard spasms wrung his balls dry as he unwittingly fulfilled Draco's request, painting the wall with a ropy strand of come that was quickly rinsed down the drain.

Eyes shut tight against the spray and legs wobbling dangerously, he panted for breath in Draco's embrace. His body tingled and hummed, hot and satisfied.

He idly wondered at what point he should worry if all his best sex happened to take place with a bloke...

******

Draco pumped his fist until Harry was fully spent and then held him close, with both arms wrapped around his lover's trim waist. He nuzzled the nape of Harry neck with a smug, lazy grin--ignoring his own still pulsing erection.

"If I didn't know any better," he began as he helped Harry stand upright, turning him around so that his back had the wall for support, "I would think that you _like_ me."

******

"I better'n like you," Harry slurred, smiling inanely and enjoying the warm, boneless feeling suffusing his body.

"I'll prove it."

He dropped to his knees (with a jarring rattle of bones; he'd been too fast and too careless) and eyed Draco's prick like it was a challenge. He maneuvered Draco's body so it blocked the stream of water, held his prick steady with a loose grip around the base, and pressed a tentative kiss to the crown.

******

Draco's mouth formed a small "oh" of surprise as Harry fell to his knees. One hand instantly went to land on the drowned mass that was his hair, the tendrils of which seemed to curl about his fingers. His other hand braced the wall as he bent forward over the Auror. The first lips on cock contact he ever had was surprisingly electric, sending a shiver down his spine that ended just at the base of his shaft.

"Feel free," he breathed, almost dismayed, as his gaze locked upon the sight. He noted a slight hesitation in the normally confident man and smiled at the reminder that Harry hadn't done this before.

******

Harry tried to remember all at once everything that had ever been done to him during head, dividing them broadly into the categories of 'like' and 'don't like' so that he could attempt the world's most perfect blowjob.

Frankly, he got a little overwhelmed.

Fortunately, his voice of reason cut through the burgeoning anxiety to remind him that a prick was a simple thing (unlike, say, a vagina). _It feels good when you touch it, Harry. It's not N.E.W.T.s._ So he gathered his courage, licked a stripe over the shiny head (noting the slightly odd, but not unpleasant flavour), and opened his mouth to suck down as far as he could go without triggering his gag reflex.

...Which turned out to be not all that far.

But not terrible for a first try, he thought.

He tightened his fist on the bottom half of Draco's shaft so that Draco would have sensation on the whole length of it and began to bob on the top half, being mindful about his teeth and using his tongue to swirl and lick as he sucked.

He wrapped his other hand around Draco's thigh to steady himself and, remembering how thrilling it had been when Draco did it, angled his head so he could look him in the eye while sucking him off.

******

Draco groaned with appreciation as his head was licked and then swallowed. It didn't matter that Harry couldn't take all of him, his cock still twitched and his heart still thrummed. He was already painfully hard by the time Harry had decided to reciprocate--he wouldn't last long...

Or at all, apparently. The last of his control left him when Harry decided to look up and lock eyes, which was an impossibly erotic sight with those shockingly green irises of his (the stuff of many years' worth of fantasies). His mouth opened to speak a warning but nothing more than an odd whine escaped as he came.

"Holy shit," he exclaimed on a breath when it was through (many seconds later). "Are you all right?"

******

Harry laughed, dropping his arse onto the tub floor and stretching his legs out in front of him with Draco between them. Maybe it had been the world's greatest blowjob after all.

He remembered belatedly that it had been Draco's first blowjob, which likely had more to do with his speedy release than any masterful technique on Harry's part. Still, he congratulated himself on a job well done.

Swallowing the last of the bitter, pungent ejaculate (not a fan of that, he learned), and wiping from his chin the small amount that had hit him in the face when he pulled off, he grinned up at Draco to say, "I'm all right."

******

Draco fell with Harry to the tub. He didn't bother with concern for personal space or care if the Auror happened to be too hot as he sprawled on top of him--his head on Harry's shoulder and his legs curled up where he sat between his lover's legs. The water was still going strong, washing away what was left of the mess. He chuckled warmly.

"I haven't... I haven't even washed yet..."

******

"What have you been doing all this time?" Harry sarcastically retorted as he wrapped his arms around Draco and pulled him in for a hug, angling his face downward to avoid getting a mouth full of water. He pressed several wet kisses to Draco's shoulder and prominent clavicle.

"I don't know about you," he said after a minute, "but I'm starving. Literally, I think. You can stay in here as long as you like but I'm going to get out to start working on dinner."

******

Draco hummed. "You go," he said. "I'm going to stay for a few minutes to actually apply soap to my body, and I don't need you around to continue distracting me." He gave Harry's thigh a playful smack as he moved (somewhat sluggishly) to stand. He had to use the shower walls and Harry's shoulder for support until he was upright and his legs no longer shook.

"And please feel free to leave the deadly plants off the menu," he quipped, taking up the soap once again. "It's too bad we didn't get to do what I had planned in the Garden Room, though I have faith that your plans will more than make up for it."

He winked at Harry as he gently shoved him out of the tub.

******

Wrapping a flannel around his waist and walking with a decided spring in his step, Harry made his way upstairs to put on a t-shirt and well-worn pair of denims. He scrubbed the flannel over his head to get out the excess water and grabbed a change of clothes for Draco. They probably weren't up to his high sartorial standards, but beggars can't be choosers.

On his way back down, he left the clothes on the bathroom counter for Draco and continued to the kitchen. Wanting something quick and easy for dinner, he set a wok to heat on the hob and pulled out the ingredients for a basic stir-fry. He had leftover chicken from the other night so it was a simple matter of tossing it together with some crisp vegetables and a splash of sauce while he got water boiling for noodles.

Thus accomplished, he preheated the oven and gathered what he'd need for dessert: butter, sugar, eggs, flour and, of course, _chocolate_.


	13. Conversation and confections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update?! It's a Christmas miracle! 
> 
> Sadly, this fic was put on hiatus by the unexpected demise of Prinn's computer but she is now up and running with a new one, which means so are we! 
> 
> Woohoo!

Draco took his sweet time in the shower.

When he was finally ready to head downstairs, his hair was shiny and fluffed and his skin shimmered lightly with moisturizer. He wore the clothes Harry had left for him, though he did so with a frown.

He entered the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him as he strode inside and placed his hands on his hips.

"These are too short for me," he complained, indicating his bare ankles (above his equally bare feet) and the sliver of skin across his belly below the shirt Harry'd left for him. "I appreciate that they are green, but your shoulders and neck are so wide I feel like I'm swimming in the top and it's far too breezy below."

******

Harry chuckled. "You didn't have to wear them," he retorted, eyeing Draco appraisingly.

Truth be told, he did look slightly ridiculous in such a casual and ill-fitting outfit, but who cared? It was just them in the house. Plus there was something appealing about Draco in Harry's clothes.

_Mine_ , his possessive id supplied. He did his best to ignore it.

"Come here and make yourself useful," he instructed, holding the spatula out to Draco. "You just need to keep the food moving so it doesn't stick or burn. You can stand there looking pretty while you do it."

******

Draco bypassed the spatula and leaned in to whisper in Harry's ear with one hand on the Auror's hip.

"My clothes are a mess, so unless you meant I could have walked around completely nude," he spoke with a seductive lilt to his voice, "I did have to." He nipped Harry's ear and added, "Maybe later. If you ask nicely."

Taking the proffered kitchen tool, he went to work stirring with a sigh.

"What is this stuff anyway? It looks like vegetables drowned in brown goo."

******

"I wouldn't say no to you being starkers," Harry answered with a roguish grin, "but you might catch a chill. Grimmauld can get draughty."

He began whisking the melting chocolate and butter together in a pan. "And _that_ , princess," he pointed at the wok with his elbow, "is a teriyaki stir-fry. You don't have to eat it if you don't want it. But I'm of a mind to withhold dessert if you don't."

He held up the whisk so that rich ribbons of dark chocolate flowed back into the pan, showing Draco just what he would be missing out on if he decided to act like a picky child.

******

"I am certain you would keep me warm," Draco purred while he began to stir as directed.

As the meal heated through it began to appear more edible. The brown goo turned into an almost translucent liquid that coated the vegetables and produced an appealing aroma.

He turned his eyes to Harry's chocolate confection and unconsciously licked his lips at the sight. He did love chocolate...

"Fine. But I had better at least be a pretty princess or I will withhold other things far more satisfying than your dessert."

******

"With that hair?" Harry asked facetiously, twining a lock of it around one finger. "You can be the prettiest of princesses." He gave the strands a tug and released them to begin plating the meal, instructing Draco to set the table as he did so.

"When did you start wearing it so long, by the way?" he inquired, pouring the finished batter into buttered ramekins (and sneaking a taste from the bowl).

He placed the soufflés in the oven to bake while they ate.

******

Draco set the table as he was told (with a few huffy complaints about "too sexy for such plebeian chores" and "you're lucky you're hot" as he did so). He even folded the napkins into lovely origami swans and set them beside the plates as Harry served, not missing the fact the Gryffindor sampled a bit of dessert without offering to share, the sneaky bastard.

Once settled in his chair and with fork in hand did he consider Harry's question.

"Well, I don't know how to cut it myself, and after the last time I tried to have someone other than a house-elf or my mother do it... Well, let's just say wearing half my head close-cropped is not a good look for me. I haven't the patience to deal with my father, and Mother has been on extended 'vacation'," he lifted his hands and quoted the word with his fingers, "for ages. With no one else I trust, I just... let it grow.

"I found it a pleasant surprise that I actually look rather sexy with longer hair anyway, but I refuse to let it past my collar bones... I don't want to look like my father. Not that he would mind, of course."

******

Harry joined Draco at the table, unfolding his napkin and placing it in his lap and tucking into his meal enthusiastically.

Draco not growing his hair past his collarbones seemed like a rather arbitrary distinction to him, but if it helped the man feel like more of an independent agent from his father, then it was grand. The length was more similar to Lucius's style than Harry preferred, but it wasn't his business to say so. Still, if Draco would rather have it short, it was a shame that he had no good options to make that happen. At least none he thought were viable.

"I'd offer to give it a trim," Harry replied archly, "but you and I both know how well that would go." He pointed at his unruly mop of hair with a self-deprecating grin and then popped a tender snap pea into his mouth.

He watched closely as Draco took a cautious bite. "What do you think?" he asked, expression eager.

******

Draco considered Harry's offer for a cut with a vaulted brow as he stuffed a piece of chicken into his mouth and chewed experimentally.

"It is... Passable. Somewhat...tangy?" He chewed some more as he thought. "I wouldn't object to having it again, I suppose," he announced, to Harry's apparent pleasure. "The truth is, I've never had much food beyond our local cuisine, French, and a bit of Italian. Unless you count bratwurst."

He pulled a few strands of his fringe forward with one hand while stabbing a piece of smothered broccoli with the fork in the other.

"After dinner, perhaps you _could_ cut my hair," he suggested. It was getting rather long. "I know you won't shave it against my will. And despite that crow's nest you call a hairstyle, I also know how determined you are to complete a task the right way. If worst came to worst I could always wear a hat."

******

Harry snorted, shaking his head in gentle protest. "I'm flattered, but I'm really not sure I deserve that vote of confidence. I have a very...Gryffindor approach to haircuts. It's sort of, 'trim first, ask questions later'."

Draco chuckled and seemed to let the matter drop.

Harry watched as his dinner companion set to his meal with dainty reserve--he was ready for seconds before Draco had even finished half his first. He didn't know if it was because Draco didn't care for the food or if it was just the way he ate. He supposed (with a private smile and a tiny flutter of...something...in his belly) that they'd have to have more meals together in order for him to find out.

"Tell me," he prompted, "what was it you had planned for the Garden before those stupid plants mucked everything up?"

******

Draco glanced up, eyes twinkling. "Mostly kissing and fondling," he answered lightly. " _If_ you had caught me." He set his fork beside his plate and folded his arms on the edge of the table to lean closer to Harry, feeling playful and energized. "But let's not dwell on 'what ifs' or my hair (even though it _is_ quite nice). Let's talk about Granger's hair. Still a bush? Did she ever marry Weasley? I know they both had parts in the war that led to its end, but I never see a mention of them in the paper and I admit I am curious. Your Golden Trio was something I both enjoyed watching and hated with a passion."

******

Harry tensed.

The unexpected turn in conversation was a bloody minefield. He didn't want a perfectly good evening--perfectly good after the woefully inadequate assassination attempt, anyway--to end because Draco said something offensive about his friends. But then, they would have to talk about them sooner or later if this...whatever it was...was ever going to be anything more than shagging.

"They're married," he answered simply, picking the least loaded question out of the bunch. "And they have a baby. My goddaughter, Rose." He smiled briefly at the thought of the wee, chubby thing. "Hermione works as a legal assistant to the Wizengamot and Ron's my partner, but I think you knew that."

******

"Married? What's her last name now? She seems like the type to hyphenate. I always thought she'd go into activism after her organization of that house-elf rights program. What was it called again?" He didn't sound entirely interested, but he was just _enough_ because it was part of Harry's life. _They_ were part of his life and always would be. He mirrored Harry's smile at the mention of the baby. "How old is she? Who did she take after? Salazar, I hope she doesn't have a ginger shrub for hair!" That was a topic that actually did spur his attention. He wondered how Harry was with kids. He even thought about asking after his tiny cousin, the rumored ball of energy that was Teddy Lupin ("rumored" because he really didn't know), but it seemed like too big a leap just yet.

******

Harry chuckled at Draco's keen insight, relaxing in the face of the barrage of mostly harmless questions. "She did hyphenate," he answered smoothly. "Granger-Weasley. And she thought about going into Magical Creatures but decided she'd have a greater platform for real change if she got onto the Wizengamot herself someday."

It didn't slip his noticing that Draco was exceedingly polite in his reference to S.P.E.W. but he thought it best to gloss over that topic for now. He took another bite then continued.

"Rosie is almost a year. She's got the Weasley ginger gene and Hermione's curly hair. Fortunately for her, she takes more after her mother in the looks department," he smirked. "She's sharp as tack and devious enough already to have us worried she'll be sorted Slytherin."

He winked to let Draco know he meant no offense.

******

Draco nodded through the update, giving minimal encouragers where appropriate and only paying partial attention. Harry was just too earnest and sweet. He needed a bit of ruffling. Especially for that last smart comment. (Draco was also uninterested in discussing the Weasleys and their brood any further.)

Settling on a time-tested move--one that he'd enjoyed immensely the last time he tried it--Draco smiled innocently as he offered Harry some of his chicken, presenting it on his fork with a casual air. The Auror, of course, hesitated, but upon Draco's smile turning slowly into a hurt pout he gave in. Just as his lips wrapped around the morsel, Draco's bare foot found its way into Harry's lap and pressed.

"Well," he said as though nothing untoward was taking place beneath the table (while he used his nimble toes to stroke Harry through his denims), "if she does end up Slytherin, I'll happily donate some of my old house badges. They never change and I have far more than I need."

******

"Holy _hell_ , Draco," Harry choked, grabbing his invasive foot to still it. "Are you part Veela? You've already come twice tonight and the last one wasn't even 30 minutes ago--are you seriously interested in another round already?"

He ran a hand through his hair to collect himself and left the other on Draco's foot (lest he start grinding on Harry's overly sensitive prick).

"Just so we're clear: I'm not saying no, but I can't make any promises about my ability to perform. The spirit is willing, but the body is weak."

******

Draco smirked. "Just last Thursday I came thirteen times... In an hour," he boasted falsely. "The tingly sensation from an orgasm always leaves me stimulated enough for a few more rounds. I don't know how many I can handle when my entire body is involved, but remembering how you were in the shower has me wanting to try."

He was glad Harry didn't question the sudden change of subject (again). Perhaps he was getting used to how sharply Draco's mind turned? It would have made sense if he were a Legilimens, but luckily for Draco Harry could barely handle Occlumency...as far as he knew, anyway.

He stretched his toes for another stroke but his foot was held tight, so he simply let it fall limp in Harry's grip and continued his meal.

"That, and the truth is... I just like touching it. But I'll be good, for now. Tell me about work."

******

"Draco Malfoy," Harry said, pointing with his fork, "you are full of shit."

He shook his head then snorted a laugh. "And you change course faster than an Abraxan foal. I think you have gone way too long without talking to other people."

He gave Draco's foot a squeeze and deposited it on the ground so he could check on the soufflés--his wand was vibrating in his pocket to alert him to the time.

He opened the oven door and saw that the tops had risen and were just beginning to crack. The smell that wafted out the open door was divine. Another minute then.

He leaned against the counter to wait. "What do you want to know about work?" he asked.

******

Draco sniffed the air as Harry assessed his dessert. At once, his mouth began to water in anticipation.

He shrugged off Harry's accusation. "Okay, you caught me. But I bet we could do it of we tried. And used a bottle of that Triple-O potion."

Harry smirked but declined to comment. Draco took a few more bites of dinner--to be polite and because it really wasn't so bad--before he chose to speak again.

"Blaise once said my conversational skills are excellent...as long as you can read my mind at the same time. Apparently half of it goes on in my head." He crossed his legs at the ankles, watching Harry work. "How is it to work with a friend?" he continued without pause. "I would worry such a close attachment would have you distracted in the field."

******

Harry chuckled at Zabini's description. It seemed spot on.

He turned to pull the soufflés out and began to answer with his back (well, arse, really) to Draco.

"If Ron was just a friend, it probably would be a liability. But he's my best friend and has been for long enough that he's more like a brother than anything." He set the ramekins on the hob to cool and came back to the table to sit across from Draco. "We have the best arrest record on the squad because we understand each other. I know what he's going to do before he does it and he, me. We think similarly and compliment each other well. He's more strategic than I am, but I have a better intuition." He shrugged. "It works."

******

Hearing Harry describe his partner that way caused an old flare of jealousy to rear its ugly head.

"I noticed you avoided the Triple-O statement," Draco replied first with a forced chuckle, using the joke as a way to distract himself. He pointed his fork at Harry.

"The lubricant with a warning label a full page long. 'Guaranteed to give three times the orgasms in a single romp'," he said, quoting the ribald advert for the product. "So, one becomes three, two becomes six, and so on. We're still young so we could rest between. Achieving thirteen in a day is entirely doable!"

He turned his attention to the dessert and openly licked his lips as he placed his fork back on his plate. "Do I have to finish my meal first or can we dive in? I want to know how good your baking skills are."

******

Harry made a show of considering Draco's plate. "Well I guess since you ate most of it..." He drew out the words as if reluctant and stood to retrieve the French vanilla ice cream from the freezer.

"I'll have you know my baking skills are _excellent_ ," he bragged immodestly, dishing up a scoop of ice cream alongside each of their soufflés. "But you'll find that out for yourself soon enough." He dropped a plate in front of Draco, who licked his lips greedily. "Be careful that you don't scald your mouth. That _just_ came out of the oven."

He returned to his spot and picked up his spoon to dig in to the dessert. It was gooey, molten perfection on the inside.

Feeling proud, he blew on the bite to cool it and finally responded to Draco's obvious baiting. "Let's see how many orgasms we can accomplish on our own before resorting to the magically-enhanced lube that might make our dicks fall off, yeah?"

******

Draco scooped a scant spoonful of the rich, steaming soufflé and appraised it. It looked like perfection. He hovered the spoon over his bowl and waited for it to cool on its own.

"How many orgasms were you hoping to have today, then?" he asked, genuinely curious though he playfully waggled his brows.

Without waiting for Harry's answer, he voiced the next most pressing thought clamoring for attention in his head. "So, work. From what I have gathered you are currently the only Auror without an extensive medical record. Yes, you've sustained injuries--both serious and not, but for someone whom I imagine attracts so much trouble, I would think you'd have been hurt more often. Not that I want you to be," he quickly amended. "It's actually a relief." He peered closely at Harry. "Is it because of Weasley or are you just _that_ good?"

******

Harry popped his still-piping bite into his mouth and chased it with a spoonful of ice cream, which melted immediately and mixed with the soufflé, cooling it and making it sweet enough for his jaw to tingle.

It was heavenly.

He didn't often pull out all the stops when he was cooking for one. If anything, he just ate store bought biscuits or ice cream straight from the container. It was nice having the excuse to get a little creative in the kitchen.

It was also nice having someone to talk to over dinner, he reflected. He'd been puttering around the house by himself for too long.

_...Easy there, Harry_ , he chided himself. One sort-of-date and a bit of fooling around were not the same thing as having someone move in. Even if someday (in the far distant future) the idea arose, he'd have to be sure he could put up with Draco's eccentricities. The man did not seem easy to live with. But he _was_ making pleasant, if disorienting and raunchy, conversation. And his company was...otherwise enjoyable.

Harry grinned. "Three, at least. Maaaybe four, if you stay the night. That would be a new record for me." He took another bite--it was just as good as the first. "As for the lack of injuries, part of that is Ron watching my back, for sure. The rest is...well, I've always had a knack for defense, I suppose."

He was being modest. Some kinds of boasting were fine, but saying, 'I can easily hold my own against three skilled wizards,' seemed off-puttingly prideful (even if it was true).

******

Draco eyed the way Harry immediately spooned his ice cream and plunged it in with the soufflé with a curious quirk of his brow. He had eaten ice cream (including strange and exotic flavors he was certain Harry'd never tried) and soufflés (baked by master chefs), but he never thought to mix the two at once. It seemed a bit plebeian, but...

 _When in Rome_ , he mused and chased his bite with a scoop of ice cream.

The soufflé was surpassingly good, cementing the idea that Harry was good at literally everything he cared to try, but with the addition of the ice cream Draco's senses were treated to a novel delight.

If he were to be harshly critical, neither element was particularly special on its own (besides the fact that Harry had made it, which was more than just "special") but the combination itself gave rise to new texture and a delightful mix of hot and cold that Draco had never experienced before.

"I've heard of cake and ice cream served together but this is a first for me. Is this what ice cream cake tastes like? Just cake with ice cream on top?"

******

Harry felt genuine pity. "You poor, deprived sod," he lamented. "I knew you were sheltered in your ivory tower but I didn't realize how bad it was. Please tell me you've at least had real fish and chips--the kind served in a greasy newspaper cone?"

******

Draco blinked. "... A greasy newspaper cone? Why would anyone eat anything out of a newspaper cone?" He didn't mention he hadn't even had chips before, though he knew of them, of course. "Especially a greasy one."

He tiled his head and arched a brow.

"And an 'ivory tower'? Did you just call the Manor some sort of fairytale prison?"

******

"We've already established that you're a princess," Harry said primly. "Don't backtrack. And, yes, if you've never had real fish and chips and you don't know why they should be eaten out of a newspaper cone or the difference between ice cream cake and cake served with ice cream, you were raised in an untouchable, impenetrable, snooty pureblood fortress." He took another bite then pointed with his spoon, leaning forward on the table, "But don't fret, I am going to open your eyes to a whole new world of lowbrow culinary delights."

He grinned, making plans in his head already.

******

Draco stuffed his mouth with another spoonful of delicious soufflé (with ice cream) as he gave Harry the flattest frown he could muster while chewing. He rolled his eyes, though it was accompanied by the return of a small smile as he watched Harry's brilliant green eyes flash. The man was obviously plotting something.

"As long as you're paying I suppose it's fine," he replied in mock snootiness. "And for all those princess barbs, you may just find yourself in a pretty, lacy dress one day. I am rather good at transfiguration, you know."

******

Harry snorted. "I may be bent, but I don't do drag." Bite. Swallow. Smirk. "And it'll be a sunny day in Scotland when you manage to transfigure my clothes without me noticing or taking evasive action."

He leaned back in his chair, slowing down to enjoy watching Draco eat. "I haven't heard any complaints yet, so it must be good," he remarked dryly, looking from Draco's soufflé to his face.

******

"It is," Draco said simply as he licked his spoon. He laved the back of the silver utensil until it was devoid of chocolate. Even when he spoke, he hardly paused in his eating. His dessert was actually finished off before Harry's. He smirked. "For an amateur."

With one last suck across the dip, he set the spoon down into his empty ramekin and grabbed his napkin to dab fastidiously around his mouth.

"Would you mind finishing up without me? I'd like to use your Floo to call Pansy, if I may. I don't have one, lest Blaise come through to try and molest me in my sleep (as he did on more than one occasion at Hogwarts). He once attempted sneaking to my room at the Manor when he was staying over during the summer after fourth year, but I anticipated him and had traps waiting. I awoke to see him hanging upside down in a magical net looking right cross."

Draco laughed as if it was hilarious--and it was--but perhaps he should have felt more concerned about it. Harry's face suggested that maybe he should have. But Blaise was harmless, really. Handsy at times, randy _always_ , but harmless.

******

Harry frowned. What Draco made light of sounded an awful lot like attempted sexual assault to him.

_Some "friends"._

He hadn't ruled either Slytherin off his list of suspects or accomplices since they had conveniently disappeared right before the attack and were among the only people who knew about Draco's crush on him. His gut told him not to trust them (though, to be fair, it said that about most Slytherins--present company excluded).

"You can call Parkinson," he said warily, "but one-way only, please. I'm not interested in dealing with the possibility of unexpected visitors. Traps or no."

******

Draco nodded. "I wasn't going to let her through. No offense, but she hates you," he shrugged as he stood and gathered his dishes to set into the sink. The half full plate of dinner he left on the counter in case Harry was a stickler for saving rather than wasting any food.

Before heading out, he skirted the dinner table to give Harry's neck a quick, playful bite and then dashed into the sitting room (in case the fast-acting Auror tried to grab him for retaliation).

He went straight for the mantle. He had a burning question and no time to waste. It took a moment to locate the Floo powder, but as soon as he did he tossed a pinch of it into the fire.

"Grand Villa Medici, Honeymoon Suite Three. Pansy Parkinson," he called.

He waited impatiently for Pansy's face to appear within the flames. It did before long, though she seemed irritated by the interruption (which caused Draco to smirk--knowing full well she was probably with her beau of the month).

"Hey, Pans... Got a minute?"


	14. The bed was a good choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut is a good Christmas present, right? ;)
> 
> XOXO,  
> playout and Prinn

Harry set to work putting the kitchen to rights while Draco made his call, curious about what he and Parkinson might be discussing. His face flamed when he thought the answer could be the activities they had gotten up to that day.

Ignoring his ambient embarrassment, he put the uneaten soufflés in the freezer and the dinner leftovers in the fridge. He binned Draco's uneaten portion even though he would have saved it had it belonged to Ron or Hermione. He wasn't sure why--obviously he wasn't worried about Draco's saliva given all their snogging, but he still felt weird about the idea of saving Draco's food for some reason. Maybe it was due to his certainty that Draco never kept leftovers.

He charmed the scrub brush to clean the dishes and the washrag to dry them and put the kettle on the hob for tea. He didn't know if Draco planned on staying long enough to want it but it was no trouble to get it started just in case.

He'd mentioned during dinner the possibility of Draco spending the night, but Draco hadn't commented one way or another. Probably too distracted by 15 different simultaneous thoughts at the time, he surmised.

...Harry worried his lip.

He wanted Draco to stay.

******

"This better be important, Draco," Pansy snapped, glaring murderously through the flames and looking perfectly demonic. "You've got five minutes before I hang up. I'm _busy_."

"You're too gracious, Pans," Draco replied with a roll of his eyes as he settled onto the hearth. "Speaking of 'being busy'," he said, changing the topic to suit his fancy, "I might be myself tonight."

Pansy flinched, but recovered quickly.

" _You_?" she sneered. "You're harder to get into than Gringrotts. Who could possibly be so special as to finally earn the key to that well-guarded vault?"

Draco rolled his eyes again, much more pronounced this time at her acid tone, as he considered what he would tell her. Harry might not appreciate being outed, especially to Pansy, and even more so with Draco's name attached.

"That part isn't important. What is-- "

"And since when do you have a Floo?" Pansy interrupted, attempting to look past Draco and into the room. "You're at his house already?" she gasped. "Why didn't you tell me immediately, and why am I not allowed to know who he is?"

"Would you take a breath before you get hysterical?" Draco snapped, irritated. "I'm calling because I need advice, not a tirade!"

Pansy's once fiery glare turned frigid. She smirked in a way that just showed a sliver of teeth, making them appear fanged from that angle.

"Oh? Advice? How about another haircut, _ma'am_?" she goaded.

Draco seethed. "There is no way in hell I am letting you touch my hair after last time, you harpy. Now shut up and listen! You owe me for making me read that four page letter about Donald last week."

He sat on his haunches to relieve muscles that were beginning to protest his stooped posture (and to buy himself a moment). He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply in order to properly steel himself.

"He wants me to stay the night and wants to work out a relationship, and before you make any snide remarks about how he'll dump me the next morning... You know Gryffindors--they're a noble lot," he said, all in one breath.

Pansy gaped "...You're dating a Gryffindor?"

Draco swatted his hand irritably, dismissing the objection before it was fully voiced. "Not the important part, Pans! Anyway, so we have only been on two half dates, the man is _amazing_ \--I could go on for hours about his voice, his looks, his patience, his honesty... And he's definitely made to be an Auror with how easy it is for him to take charge--"

"You're dating an _Auror_? YOU? But you're a Death Eater! What Auror would want _you_?" Pansy laughed. A cold, mirthless-sounding thing. Whether it was spiteful or she was just being silly (as she was at times) was hard to tell, but it stung all the same. Draco's eyelid twitched.

"I know, I know," he soldiered on. "But he does, so far." He kept the hurt to himself, beyond his voice growing a tad quieter. "I think we can make something of this... and I want to sleep with him. I haven't felt that since school--wanting to be with someone completely, as Hufflepuff as that sounds."

Pansy harrumphed. "What do you need me for, then? You must know how stupid this is, yes?"

Draco frowned deeply. "Stupid? Why?"

He thought of all the men Pansy had slept with and left the next day and realized she might not have been the best person to seek for advice. She wasn't exactly the committing sort (except when it came to the betrothal contract they shared, which would _never_ be actualized).

"Oh, you poor, silly sod," she replied with no real sympathy and a mocking grin. "It _is_ your first time, though. Does he know you're a blushing virgin?"

"Yes," Draco hissed through gritted teeth. He kept his usual cool commentary to himself, lest he piss the girl off and have the connection closed in his face. "Which is why he's been careful with me."

Pansy looked like she was sucking lemons. "Have you been building up to sex during your _two_ 'half dates'?" she spat.

She crossed a line. "Now _that_  is none of your business!" Draco said briskly, before throwing up his hands in dismay. Why was she acting like this? He hadn't the foggiest and he was anxious to end the unpleasant call now. "Ugh, whatever...Five minutes are up. Have fun with the new guy." .

"Don't bother Flooing me again," Pansy replied curtly before the flames went dark. Draco stared in shock at the spot her face had been a moment earlier. She'd been nastier than he had ever seen her, especially considering it was her precious Drakky she was talking to (a nickname she still used on occasion, though not as much as she had during school).

After taking several minutes to compose himself and attempt to puzzle out Pansy's unprecedented vitriol, he returned to the kitchen feeling confused and downtrodden (and no closer to solving the mystery).

He found Harry at the table with a fresh cup of tea.

"Sorry I took so long," he said with a small, apologetic smile as he approached. He took the chair across from Harry and accepted the proffered teacup.

"Is staying the night still on the table?"

******

_So he did hear_ , Harry thought, a frisson of excitement running up his spine and making his fingertips tingle. But the firecall was apparently an unpleasant one, if the pinched lines around Draco's smile were any indication. He didn't seem to want to talk about it, though, so Harry let it go for now. He filed the information away for later, however.

"The offer still stands," he confirmed. With a sly grin and a wink he added, "I was thinking we'd use my _bed_ , but the table's all right if you'd rather."

******

Draco couldn't stop the breathy laugh that bubbled up at Harry's smart comment. He flashed a fox's smile as he leaned far over the table to say, "I'm up for whatever, as long as you're going to keep me in the morning. But I think the bed would be the best, me being a virgin and all..."

******

Harry spluttered, nearly choking on his tea. "Oh. I wasn't planning on--" he cleared his squeaky throat and scratched the side of his head awkwardly.

Draco, with his slightly quirked lips and piercing stare, seemed serious about his intentions. It wasn't that Harry wasn't interested. He was, with reservation. But...

"I mean, it's a bit soon, isn't it?" Nervous hands clutched at his trousers. "I was thinking we might do a bit more of the stuff we did earlier. There's no rush to--" He interrupted himself with a gulp. Muggle-loving Merlin, he felt like a stammering teenager. It had been some time since he was shy about sex, but this was new to him, too.

"I'd rather wait," he asserted, finally gaining a semblance of control over his sudden bout of nerves.

******

Oh. _Ohhh_.

Draco chuckled. Instead of feeling mad or disappointed, he was relieved. He leaned back in his chair with a long sigh.

"I'm actually glad to hear you say that," he admitted. "I thought--Pansy said something that made me think--" he reconsidered the wisdom of bringing up the ill-fated conversation real time. "Nevermind. It's not important. What is important is what we could do now." His voice dropped into the lower register. "At the table, or on the couch, or in the bed," he purred. "You mentioned having ideas earlier about 'making me sweaty all over again'? Anything in particular or did you plan to just... Wing it?"

******

Godrick, when Draco's voice went low and sultry and his smirk was all wickedly playful, Harry's libido _responded_. The tone had the energizing charge of their youthful antagonism but with sex instead of threat--it went straight to his prick.

"I'm more of a show-er than a tell-er," he replied with a smirk of his own. He stood and extended his hand to Draco, tugging him out of the chair and into his chest. He planted a firm kiss on Draco's lips... then led him up four flights of stairs to his bedroom.

"Don't look at the mess," he warned, half-jokingly, as he opened the door.

******

Harry needn't have worried: Draco only had eyes for him.

"You should be more concerned with the mess we're going to make," he retorted archly before grabbing Harry by his top and pulling him in for another searing, possessive kiss. Thus occupied, he walked Harry backwards toward the large, unkempt bed in the middle off the room. The kiss remained unbroken until Draco shoved Harry onto the blankets and slowly moved to crawl over him.

"Uh oh!" he teased. "Looks like the Auror is losing his touch, being topped so easily."

******

Harry snorted. In a blink, he shoved Draco's legs out from under him and flipped their positions so he was the one on top, pinning Draco's arms above his head.

"Who's easy now, Malfoy?" he taunted, leaning down to nip at Draco's pouty bottom lip.

He'd ended up between Draco's legs in the exchange. Never one to deny such a golden opportunity, he ground their pricks together while swiping his tongue against Draco's slick, white teeth. The contact was sizzling and he thrilled at the feeling of Draco's fine-boned wrists, his lean body still and submissive beneath him.

******

Draco widened his legs as Harry began to grind. Even between their clothes (or rather, two sets of Harry's clothes), the friction of their cocks was electrifying. He moaned softly, allowing Harry's tongue full access to his mouth.

He wanted to give the Auror complete control to see what he might do (merely the thought of it was a major turn on), but it was growing difficult not to buck forward. He distracted himself by slanting his mouth against Harry's and sucking hard on his tongue.

******

Harry released Draco's wrists with one hand while maintaining his hold with the other and rolled to the side so he was straddling Draco's thigh.

They snogged all the while.

He brought his free hand to the bulge in Draco's trousers and palmed his prick through the material. Draco bucked into the touch and Harry rewarded him by kneading firmly. With nimble fingers, he undid Draco's trousers and reached inside to grasp the hot skin of his prick. He was coming to enjoy the sensation immensely.

Pressing his own erection into Draco's leg, he began to wank Draco in earnest, trailing kisses down his neck and stretching himself almost to the point of pain to do so while still keeping Draco's arms pinned (because the Slytherin was so bloody _long_ ).

******

Draco didn't struggle as his wrists were brought together in one of Harry's hands but he couldn't help but writhe and buck as his cock was stroked by the other.

Once his mouth was released, he moaned and panted eagerly--the sound somewhat muffled through his teeth as he bit his lip to try and hush the noises. The heat of Harry's palm on his skin made him want to reciprocate, and he did so by undulating his his hips against Harry's cloth-covered crotch. The already short shirt rode up his torso until his belly was exposed.

"Do you like it, Harry?" he murmured as his neck was attacked with wet kisses; it tingled from the contact. "Do you like watching me beneath you?"

******

"Godrick, _yes_ ," Harry answered on an exhale.

He liked watching Draco, touching him, kissing him, feeling him. Merlin, he'd liked everything so far, so much more than he would have guessed or expected. He was blown away by the ferocity of his want, amazed that it could be so great after such a short amount of time (not to mention the even shorter amount of time since his last two orgasms). He didn't even know what he wanted to do next. A lot, really. But much of it was intimidating.

...He reckoned he could start with undressing the man and go from there.

He released Draco's arms entirely to ruck up his shirt (which was already riding deliciously high) and pull it up and over his head. When Draco's smooth, pale torso was exposed, he ran his hands and lips and tongue and teeth over it greedily. He laved one of Draco's small, pert nipples with his tongue until it pebbled, then took it between his teeth to gently tug.

******

Draco lifted his torso obligingly as the shirt was peeled away. Once resettled onto the mattress, he kept his arms above his head despite their release (though his hands did clench in the soft, tangled blanket). His skin jumped at Harry's touch as his chest and stomach were immediately attacked. A loud, involuntary groan escaped when his nipple was tugged, causing his back to arch from the bed.

" _Fuck_ ," he breathlessly exclaimed.

In "retaliation", he used his leg to rub into Harry's insistent hardness, still partially pressed against his thigh.

******

Harry didn't want to come in his trousers--and he would if Draco kept that up--so he shifted up onto his knees to cast his own shirt aside and begin tugging Draco's borrowed trousers down. The task was made easier by the fact they were considerably looser than what Draco typically wore.

"You're gorgeous, you know that?" he said sincerely, raking his eyes over the feast before him. "I know I've made some jokes, but I mean it."

******

Draco's smirk was smug but his cheeks--already pink from Harry's attentions--darkened in colour.

He repositioned himself so that his legs were curled over Harry's clothed hips and squeezed, his arms held stiff above his head.

"Of course I am," he replied as he lifted his legs around Harry's waist to pull him in close. "And you... Are too damn handsome for anyone's good."

******

Harry chuckled. "Maybe we should just lay here looking fondly at each other, then," he joked, a smile tugging at his lips.

It slipped from his face as an idea took shape: He'd gotten to touch and have a taste--and had enjoyed both far more than he ever would have thought possible--but what he hadn't been able to do yet was _watch_.

He was suddenly very eager to do just that, not just for the education it was sure to be but also because the thought of it was an incredible turn on.

He rubbed his palms on Draco's outer thighs and wondered if he was brave enough to ask for what he wanted. Deciding the worst that could happen was Draco saying no (well, he _could_ become terribly offended and leave in a huff, but that didn't seem very likely), Harry touched his tongue to his bottom lip to moisten it and said, "Actually, if you're willing," he paused to swallow and steel his resolve, "I'd like to watch you pleasure yourself. With your fingers," he added, since that hadn't been clear.

******

Draco blinked as he was given the request. To say it was a surprise would be an understatement. Who knew Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived and Saviour of the Wizarding World, had a bit of kink to him? He considered it quite seriously for a few moments, but eventually--he grinned.

"What do I get in return?" he asked coquettishly, already moving into position with his head on the pillows, bending his knees up and out until he was fully exposed. "That would require a lot more than dinner and some chocolate..."

******

Harry's heart quickened as Draco shifted on the bed, the easy movement at odds with his supposedly reluctant words.

"For one," he answered huskily, practically panting with arousal, "you can watch _me_." He grasped his straining prick through his trousers and gave it a long, teasing stroke to illustrate his point, pinning Draco with a smoldering gaze as he did so. "And secondly...I will take over for you when you tell me to."

******

"Hm, that is tempting," Draco spoke with a sarcastic lilt, but the way he bit his lip and stared at the Auror's throbbing cock told a different story. He slid his hands over the interior of his knees and slowly down the length of his pale thighs.

"Where's your lube? We left our wands in the kitchen... Unless you'd like to start me off yourself? Rim me until I'm wet enough to test how many fingers I can put in?"

******

Harry shivered.

And he thought about it. He really did. Draco's idea certainly had merit, but he wasn't quite ready to take the plunge.

"Maybe next time," he replied, feeling a pang of regret even as he said it.

He crawled around Draco so he could reach into his nightstand drawer and hand him the tube of lubricant therein. He actually had his wand in his back pocket, but real lube was better than the conjured stuff.

As Draco unscrewed the cap, Harry shed his trousers and pants, tossing them into the pile of clothes that already occupied his bedroom floor. Thus freed, he positioned himself at the foot of the bed, kneeling with his knees spread wide so they'd both have a good view. He took his prick in hand and waited.

******

Draco openly sighed with disappointment, though he was still grinning to ease any hurt Harry might have felt from the noise. (He decided he would hold Harry to that 'next time' clause, however.) He gave the uncapped lube a sniff and made an appreciative hum.

"Vanilla? It's nice."

He squeezed a generous amount onto his middle three fingers and spread the gel until each one was heavily coated. The tube was abandoned to the nightstand before he moved to grab one side of his arse by the cleft and pulled to make room for his right hand and the first slick finger.

He circled his furrowed arsehole until he knew that it was shiny and wet. The first digit plunged inside with a welcoming moan.

******

" _Fuuuck_ ," Harry groaned, eyes glued to the sight of Draco's finger disappearing into his body, which was spread open wantonly before him.

He grasped the base of his prick tightly to keep from spilling his load right then and there.

"You're so fucking sexy, Draco," he breathed reverently.

******

Draco began to thrust his middle digit--slipping all the way out and pushing back in again as far as he could go.

What started with a slow, languid rhythm grew to something more demanding once his hole was good and slippery. His legs bent and fell to his sides in a display of (what was probably very unexpected) practiced flexibility, which he had mastered after several sessions alone at home. Draco's knees could nearly touch the bed. His left hand moved to grasp under his knee while his right carefully inserted a second finger and began to thrust in a scooping motion as he searched for his prostate.

******

Draco's legs fell open and he spread them farther still with a hand hooked under his knee. He increased the pace of his thrusting and added a second finger, grunting and groaning, clenching and moaning as he fucked himself on his hand. His hair fanned out around him like a halo, his cheeks and chest (and gripping hole) were pink.

Harry was, in a word, transfixed.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he began to stroke himself in time with Draco's thrusts, imagining the slick, tight heat of his channel on his prick. It was somewhat difficult for him to wrap his mind around, but Draco seemed to be having a jolly good time without so much as touching his own weeping member--he bit his bottom lip on a whine and his eyelids fluttered closed until he forced them open again to return his stunning gaze to Harry.

"Like that, Draco," he praised breathlessly in reply. "Just like that."

******

" _Harry_ ," Draco moaned as he stared into deep, emerald green. His toes curled into the sheets as he came closer to his prostate, purposely teasing himself by inching closer rather than pressing directly into it. His cock was lightly tapping his abdomen as he began to thrust harder, faster--his hips bearing down as if he really were being fucked by something other than his fingers.

"Like this? You want more?" His voice was rough and low as he half-spoke, half-groaned. "I haven't just... Used fingers in a while... I forgot how fucking tight it feels inside."

******

Harry pushed and pulled and squeezed his prick, not wanking properly since his hand was dry, but driving himself mad all the same. His mouth hung open, his shallow, rapid breaths doing a piss poor job of delivering oxygen to his lungs.

Draco's face twisted, agonized. His legs spasmed and shook, his feet curled, his core flexed, prick bouncing against his stomach as he fucked himself mercilessly, looking straight at Harry whenever his eyes were open. It set a new standard for erotic stimulation. Merlin, it set a whole new category. In Harry's mind there was now a space for everything else, and one just for Draco. (Not only was he possibly ruined for other men, Harry feared he might be ruined for anyone else ever; he'd better hope things worked out between them or his sex life would take a serious downturn when they broke them off.)

He wanted to take over, wanted to feel what Draco was feeling. More than anything, he wanted to fuck him, to be the reason for his whimpers and moans, but the tiny part of his brain clinging desperately to rationality told him that was too much, too soon.

"I want more," he begged. "Let me. Tell me you want me to."

******

"You're going to chaffe, you idiot," Draco chided, taking a second to toss the lube over to Harry, who was witlessly abusing his tender shaft.

He pulled out to his first knuckles and paused to wait a few seconds for Harry to take the lube and begin properly slicking himself before adding a third finger and shoving back inside roughly, smashing directly onto his prostate with his fingertips. The moan that followed was loud and unbridled, it came from deep in his belly. His orgasm was beginning to bubble and caused his hand to move more frantically.

"I want you to squeeze yourself. Tight, you hear? And no holding back on any noises! I want to hear you..."

******

That wasn't what Harry meant but when Draco asked so persuasively...

He groaned long and low at the sensation of his hand gliding smoothly over his swollen prick. He wasn't usually very vocal in bed (especially not when wanking), but he thought he could put some effort into it considering what Draco was doing for him.

He squeezed tightly as Draco had instructed and rubbed his thumb over his sensitive slit, gasping at the sensation combined with the incredible visual. Draco's hand was a blur, three fingers inside his body now. It really seemed like he was going to come just from that. Harry hadn't known that was possible. He stared unblinking, panting, as his own hand matched Draco's punishing pace and he hurtled toward his orgasm. His thighs were burning and his heart thundered in his ears, almost loud enough to drown out the lewd squelching noises of their mutual gratification, but not quite.

"Fuck, Draco," he gasped (eloquently), wanking with the quick, short strokes that were sure to make him come. "So good. You're _so_ good."

******

Draco slowly withdrew his hand, shivering as he did. He was nice and wet and so close to the brink. He crooked his shining fingers at Harry with a smoldering grin.

He knew what Harry had meant before, but he also knew the well-intentioned Gryffindor had no idea what he was doing. But now that Draco so incredibly sensitized, he had an impossibly small likelihood of failure.

"I want you to fuck me with your fingers, Harry," he purred. "I want you to finish me off. I'll do you after if you're good."

******

Harry hesitated a moment but only because his brain had short-circuited from so many conflicting impulses ( ** _Stop_**. _Godrick, don't stop! Touch Draco. Can't touch Draco_). When it finally processed what the man had said, he leapt to comply.

Hoisting Draco's hips so he would have more access and using the hand that was already lubed, he rubbed the pads of his index and middle fingers over Draco's slick, winking pucker.

"Two?" he asked breathlessly, almost trembling. "Three? Whatever you want. Just tell me."

******

"Three," Draco answered with an amused chuckle at Harry's eagerness. He lifted his hands until his arms hung above his head like before and gripped the pillow cradling his skull. The Slytherin's gaze was half-lidded and intense. He watched the way Harry's own dark, green-ringed eyes looked on, almost enchanted by Draco's sweating body and waiting hole.

"I want your fingers inside me and no need to be gentle. Give it to me hard and fast. You saw how I like it."

******

Knowing his fingers were thicker than Draco's and really not wanting to hurt him, Harry pressed the two already poised over his entrance into the burning, clutching, impossibly tight heat.

They barely fit.

Godrick, but it was wonderful. Draco shuddered and bucked, forcing them the rest of the way in. Harry kneaded the strained muscle of Draco's right thigh, pulling his fingers most of the way out and pressing them back in again, steady and firm.

******

Draco released the pillows in order to grab the slats of the headboard. With better leverage, he began to thrust in earnest against Harry's stocky digits. His right leg lifted to settle over Harry's shoulder, easing some of the strain building in the ligaments of his hip as his muscles began to tighten with imminent release.

"Fuck, Harry! _More_... Give me more!" Draco threw his head back and groaned in appreciation as Harry's fingers scraped across his prostate. "Right there...!"

******

That was a direction Harry would follow to the letter. No qualms or conditions.

Replicating as precisely as he was able the motion that had made Draco cry out before, he gave him hard and fast. The way Draco moaned and writhed and thrust against him spurred him on, even when his fingers began to cramp and his forearm burned with the effort.

He wrapped his free hand around Draco's shin (up by his ear) and pumped his fingers in and out of the scorching, spasming chute, completely consumed by the utter necessity of giving Draco exactly what he needed.

******

It wasn't long before Draco arched completely off the bed with a strangled cry, his knuckles white with the intensity of his grip and his eyes rolling back in his head. He came hard across the flat plane of his abdomen, a few spurts even landing on his chest.

Slowly, he released the slats and slid his aching hands away. His legs fell limp and lifeless (his left still on Harry's shoulder and hanging heavily).

"Oh...wow," he sighed and a tired, slightly delirious chuckle escaped. He turned to stare into Harry's shining, lust-filled eyes with a satisfied smile.

"How do you want me now?"

******

Flushed with the satisfaction of victory, Harry didn't need to hurry. He was still enjoying the fluttering aftershocks of Draco's inner muscles contracting on his fingers and amazement that the man had actually come from that alone.

He wondered what it felt like on the receiving end and if he would like it. Whenever he'd imagined being with a man, it had always been with him on top. Without even trying to (probably), Draco had convinced him to reconsider his opinion.

Gingerly, he withdrew his fingers and then eased Draco's leg down onto the bed.

"Take your time," he smiled, coming to lay next to him on the pillow. "You worked hard for that."

******

Draco huffed a laugh as he turned to look at Harry again. The man was rumpled and sweaty once more, but looked so casual, even as he sported a throbbing erection between his thick, hairy thighs. Draco lifted a hand and pushed it into Harry's chest, splaying his fingers across a firm, equally hairy pectoral.

"That wasn't half-bad, Potter," he smirked condescendingly. "l think I shall do something special for you... Besides being your own personal sex kitten."

The last part was purposely cheesy and delivered with an equally ridiculous wink.

******

Harry snorted. "Something special, hm?" He twined a bit of Draco's hair around a (clean) finger and tugged playfully. "And how should I position myself for this 'something special'?"

The thrill of not knowing what Draco had planned caused butterflies in his stomach. He was eager to find out.

Eager, and somewhat nervous.

******

"Are you sure you want me to cut my hair?" Draco teased. "You seem to enjoy playing with it."

He remained still as Harry twirled and tugged at it. It was an oddly pleasant feeling to have his hair played with--another first for him. Of course, his mother used to brush and style it when he was younger, but it had never been touched just for the sake of doing so.

"As for position," he began with a thoughtful hum and a grin that could rival the Cheshire Cat's, "Lay on your back with your hands above your head. And remember that you trust me now, or at least I hope you do."

******

"I can still play with it if you cut it," Harry smirked, releasing the strand.

He moved into position as Draco directed, stomach twisting with equal parts apprehension and excitement. Somehow he knew that Draco would be crushed if he showed even a moment's hesitation so he swallowed down his anxiety and grasped the slats of his headboard as Draco had done before.

His prick lay heavy on his stomach. He licked his lips as he watched Draco avidly.

******

"Now, I had assumed we both left our wands downstairs," Draco began casually as he moved to sit over Harry's thighs, "but that little smug look you flashed makes me wonder if you did that muggle-born thing and stuffed yours in your back pocket before we came up here. Let's see, shall we?"

He held out his hand and confidently proclaimed, " _Accio_ Harry's wand!"

The familiar bit of holly smacked into his palm as it sailed from Harry's denims. Draco smirked, pleased with both his rightness and the wand's obedience.

" _Trust_ , remember," he prompted, just before whispering a spell and tying Harry's wrists to the headboard with magical bonds. The conjured ropes spilled from the wand and quickly latched around the Auror until he was properly affixed to the bed.

"Is it too tight?" he asked solicitously. "Your wand doesn't respond to me quite as well as my own, of course."

Whether or not it was, Draco slowly slid himself upwards from Harry's thighs until he was sitting firmly on his lubed cock. He ground down for a moment, both cheeks open and cradling the Gryffindor's heavy member.

******

The ropes might have been too tight. Harry may also have felt some unease about being bound while Draco possessed his wand. He didn't know one way or another because everything in his head became white noise when Draco slid against his prick.

_Oh Merlin. Oh Godrick, Mordred and Morgana..._

The easy, self-satisfied arousal of minutes earlier was replaced with a soul-searing, gut-wrenching, mind-numbing lust that had him pulling at the ropes until his muscles ached and his wrists were surely chafing.

When he opened his eyes again--when had he closed them?--Draco was grinning smugly down at him behind a fall of silky platinum hair. He was poised, thighs tense, over Harry's prick.

" _Please_ ," Harry begged.

He wasn't even certain what he was asking for.


	15. Afterglow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This smallish chapter concludes your three-part Christmas present. Updates will probably slow down again after this, but there hopefully won't be another months-long hiatus! Thank you for reading and sticking with us!

Despite all of Harry's control when they weren't playing around (the intense greeting from that morning not withstanding), Draco feared the man wasn't going to be able to stop himself from simply taking what he wanted without a second thought if he were freed... Hence the bonds.

He leaned forward until he could peck Harry's lips, causing his hips to shift until it was his semi-flaccid cock pressing hard over Harry's erection, their chests and abdomens flush.

"I am going to worship your beautiful body," he murmured into Harry's ear. "Even if you come before I'm done, unless you tell me to stop, I won't quit until I've tasted every inch of you."

******

Harry whimpered, arching against Draco's body in search of the friction he so desperately craved.

"Worship later," he countered, a pathetically needy whine to his voice. "Tonight. Tomorrow. I don't care. Just not right now." He interrupted himself with a pleasured grunt because he'd finally gotten his prick angled well enough to rut in the tight, hot space between Draco's inner thigh and his pelvis. If the devilish Slytherin tease would just stay still for 30 seconds, that would be enough for Harry, but he feared it was too much to hope for.

******

Draco gasped as Harry thrust and rutted against him like a needy animal. The heat between his legs and the noises Harry made (the pleading alone was so incredibly hot) had his prick considering to hardening again, but he knew nothing could come of it. Instead, he chuckled, sat up straight, and pressed his full weight onto Harry's cock like he had done before. This time, however, he merely held Harry's hips to anchor himself, content to let the Auror squirm and buck and finish himself off beneath Draco while he watched.

"I'll give in, just this once," he acquiesced. "But only because you're so convincing."

He gave another startled gasp when Harry surged against him almost forcefully enough to unseat him. He recovered to bear down hard once more.

"You're so sexy, Harry," he purred, carding his fingers through the ample fur on Harry's abdomen. "And the noises you make...!"

******

Harry could have wept with gratitude. Actual words of thanks were beyond him at the moment.

He planted his feet flat on the mattress and gripped the slats of his headboard for leverage. It wasn't perfect--that would require the use of his hands--but thrusting in the cradle of Draco's arse, virtually deflowering him but for a technicality of position, was damn close to it.

Draco bounced on top of him, flushed and grinning. Harry wanted badly to kiss him. Touch him. Ride him. Use his hands again. Maybe his tongue.

Godrick, he was approaching his third orgasm of the night and he was already thinking about the next. It was madness. It wasn't even about the climax, just having (wanting, _needing_ ) more of Draco. And that was probably something he should worry about.

But he didn't.

He thrust with abandon, movements becoming jerky and abrupt as his muscles and ligaments strained, the tension building to a critical threshold. He was on the agonizing cusp for what felt like an eternity, this orgasm not so easily won after the two that preceded it. He needed just a little bit more but couldn't get it on his own. Not tied up like he was.

"Pinch my nipples," he pleaded between panting breaths.

******

Draco's spent cock twitched weakly and he bit his lip as he stared down at Harry's desperately wonton display. Having the Auror's cock rocking between his thighs and across his sensitive hole was more incredible than he would have reckoned. For all his silly facetious boasts, he might actually be ready for another go before long.

When asked, he did better than simply pinching Harry's flat, dark nipples--he bent himself as far as he could without removing his arse from Harry's cock and latched his mouth onto one stiff peak while tweaking the other sharply.

******

Good. So good. Almost...

" _Harder_ , Draco," Harry choked, body shaking.

******

"So demanding," Draco admonished playfully as he released Harry's nipple with a wet slurp. He used both hands to grip the twin peaks hard and used the renewed addition of his weight on the Auror's cock to grind down into Harry's erratic thrusts.

"Is this good for you, Harry? Do you want more? Faster? Harder still?"

******

Harry didn't hear Draco's questions. He was too busy with his violent orgasm.

The amount of semen that actually came out of him was relatively small, but his entire body heaved and quaked as the climax ripped through him, triggered like an avalanche by the pain-pleasure jolt of Draco twisting both of his nipples and rocking hard onto his aching prick.

It was like apparation the way his body seemed to be turning inside out, except the focus was his dick, not his belly button. Merlin, he wasn't sure he enjoyed it. His wrists stung and his prick throbbed and his hips burned and he might have pulled something in his back. The aftermath left him shaken, emptied out, exhausted.

But when Draco laid out on top of him, hot and pliant and pleased, and Harry remembered how incredibly sexy he'd been riding him like a Firebolt and how good it had felt leading up to the bittersweet orgasm, he decided that yes, he had enjoyed it. And he very much wanted to do it again.

But not that night. And maybe not the next day either. His poor prick felt bruised.

Three orgasms seemed to be his limit.

So much for Draco's thirteen.

******

Draco breathed a long and happy sigh as Harry came across his arse with a shudder and a hot, wet spurt. He reclaimed the wand that had fallen to the side and undid the spell that bound him. Once Harry was freed, he let go of the wand and instead grasped Harry's hands, gently massaging the abused skin of his wrists with the tips of his fingers as he leaned in to nip and kiss lazily at the Auror's lips.

"Ready for round four?" he teased after a minute.

******

That startled a breathless laugh out of Harry. He pulled Draco down beside him, lest the insatiable beast get any ideas, and pressed a loud, smacking kiss to his forehead.

"I'm on to you, Malfoy," he said jokingly, eyes narrowed and heart still racing. "I've deduced your evil plot: you're trying to shag me to death."

It wouldn't be a bad way to go, all things considered. Infinitely preferable to an A.K.

He grinned and hugged Draco to him.

******

Draco laughed as he was pulled into Harry's side. He hugged the Auror's waist with one arm, nestling the other under his neck. He grinned wide and returned the kiss to his lover's cheek.

"Who told you!" he asked with a mock gasp of horror. "Guess I shall have to conjure up a new devilish plan since my original one has been discovered."

He dropped his head on Harry's shoulder and curled one leg over his meaty thighs. His hold was loose due to his exhaustion.

"Nap time?" he asked through a yawn.

******

Harry scoffed. "No wonder your sleep schedule is so barmy if you think 11pm is nap time," he remarked fondly (due, in no small part, to the flood of endorphins in his system). "I, for one, will be going to _bed_ now because I have work in the morning. Like a normal person." He shuffled under the covers with Draco snuggled in close and felt pleasantly fuzzy all over.

It was nice.

******

Draco pulled Harry's head into the crook of his neck and hugged him tightly. He nuzzled his temple and sighed contentedly to himself.

"Will you be kicking me out when you go to work or do you trust me to stay and sleep?"

******

Harry tried to keep the tension he felt out of his muscles. That was a damned loaded question if ever there was one.

It wasn't a matter of mistrusting _Draco_ \--he didn't trust _anyone_ to be alone in his home except Hermione, Ron, Arthur, and Molly. Not even Ginny or George got a pass unless they were chaperoned by one of the four (Merlin knows he dealt with enough practical jokes and booby traps even when George had supervision).

"Are you sure you'll still want to sleep the day away if you go to bed at a reasonable hour?" he asked carefully.

******

Draco restrained a sigh as he read between Harry's seemingly-innocuous words. He wasn't mad, just...discouraged.

"What time should I be up?" he asked with a roll of his eyes. "And before you say anything else, I might not trust you alone in my apartment either, so not to worry." He pat Harry's head the same way he would to placate a small child.

"Sleep now. You can make strong tea in the morning. And bacon."

******

It was obvious Draco was disappointed, but thankfully he rolled with it. Harry was able to settle back in more or less relieved.

"8:50 if you want to sleep as long as possible," he answered pragmatically, trailing light fingers on Draco's side. "8:30 if you want that bacon. 8:00 if you want to work up an appetite," he suggested, tone laced with innuendo.

******

Draco nearly howled at the idea of having to get up at such an ungodly hour... Until the last option. He considered it, shrugging eventually.

"If I can be persuaded, perhaps 8:00 then. But that is still insanely early."

With the matter as settled as it was going to be, he curled up and prepared to sleep.

With Harry.

In Harry's bed.

He warmed at the realization that he was exactly where he had never dared hope to be, and that the boy he had been so hopelessly in love with all those years ago...

Well, suddenly it didn't seem so hopeless, after all.

He smiled into Harry's wild black hair as his breathing gradually evened and he was claimed by sleep.


	16. Knights Errant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! But holy moly have I been bad at updating lately. To those of you hanging in there waiting literal months for the next chapter, you have both my sincerest apologies and thanks. I keep waiting for life to settle and it continues…Not settling. The good news is I have another chapter ready to go following this one (and it's a smut fest). The bad news is, I can't make any promises about update frequency after that. But I will do my best! ~playout

It was fortunate for Harry he had experience managing a hungover Ron when it came time to wake Draco in the morning. Draco hadn't cursed or spat or tried to throw hexes, luckily, but he did make a concerted effort to burrow deeper into the covers and sleep through Harry's gentler attempts at waking him.

Harry's mouth on Draco's prick finally got the lazy Slytherin's attention (which, it should be noted had never, _**ever** _ been tried on Ron) and even after their extended shower, they still had time for a quick fry up.

All things considered, Harry was in a rather fine mood when he arrived at the office, and the day continued looking bright...excepting an awkward 'don't ask, don't tell' moment at the outset when Ron had wondered what put that dopey smile on his face. They got past it.

The best news of the afternoon came when Robards announced the Hit Wizards had taken Goyle into custody. He'd been hiding out with family in the Welsh countryside, keeping a low profile and tending sheep. Once the Unspeakables had isolated his magical signature from the syringe, it wasn't hard to find him.

Two hours, one interrogation, and a hefty dose of veritaserum later and Harry had secured a written confession. Goyle admitted to attacking Draco in the club, but denied all knowledge of the Devil's Snares in the restaurant.

The bigger surprise--except, not really--was his implication of Zabini as a willing accomplice and Parkinson as the brains behind the operation. Goyle fancied himself in love with the evil bint and she apparently carried a torch for Draco. Zabini, for reasons unknown, collaborated with the two of them to stage the attack as punishment for Draco's various sins, at least according to Goyle, who, in Harry's professional opinion, was more than half mad (and twice as dumb).

Harry's intuition was seldom wrong.

And Draco needed help choosing better friends. If all three really were involved, it would be a major blow.

Poor sod.

Harry put out the order to bring Parkinson and Zabini in for questioning and owled Draco to let him know he'd be working late that night on his case. He added a post script suggesting that Draco lie low until things calmed down and to make sure his wards were in peak form as a precaution.

After that, he scrawled another, inviting Draco over the next night. With it, he included open access to his Floo...which was a big freaking deal. But his gut told him it was the right call. Trusting it had already paid dividends that day, after all.

******

Harry's generous invitation did much to lessen the disappointment of not getting to see him that evening.

Though Draco's flat did not have a working Floo, the Manor was home to several. And his mother's recent return from her extended "holiday" on the continent gave him the perfect excuse to visit.

And, he could admit, he felt better behind the thick, ancient wards of his childhood home.

******

It was after midnight when Harry finally dragged himself out of his Floo. He'd be sleeping in the guest room that night--he was too exhausted to climb the stairs to his own room.

The day had taken a turn for the worse when Parkinson and Zabini arrived for questioning. Even though they hadn't been allowed to communicate with one another, they followed the exact same script when Ron began their interrogations, with Harry watching through a spelled wall. (He'd sat out so as to not compromise the results in case someone wanted to accuse him of bias at their trial.)

Both suspects went perfectly neutral in their expressions at the first hint they weren't there as witnesses and calmly asserted that they wouldn't be answering any questions without their solicitors present. Even if they hadn't made that stipulation, which was well within their rights, there wasn't enough evidence to use Veritaserum. Meaning not only was it a total waste of time, but it served to alert them to the fact the DMLE was suspicious so they would now have an opportunity to cover their tracks.

Harry was furious.

At Parkinson and Zabini, sure--snakes were apparently taught how to handle an interrogation at an early age; their refusal to talk convinced him of their guilt--but mostly at himself. His job would now be a whole lot harder because he'd been hasty in bringing them in. And Draco might be in even more danger because of his lapse in judgement.

He'd have to tell Draco about all of it tomorrow he thought as he crawled into bed. His stomach sank. He'd been looking forward to another date but there was no way Draco would be in the mood after news like that. Maybe someday he would learn his lesson about rushing headlong into things without first assessing the consequences.

Given that Draco was the last thing on his mind before falling asleep, probably not.

******

The next evening, per Harry's invitation, Draco Flooed from the Manor to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He stepped out onto the cold stone hearth looking every inch a Pureblood prince. His hair was finally shortened down to a "respectable" length (though belatedly he realized he had actually grown to like it longer and considered re-growing it). He wore a new mink robe and matching ankle boots with buttons climbing up the sides. He ran a hand over his glossed back locks and smirked once he entered the now familiar sitting room.

"Oh, _Harry_..." he sang as he walked from the Floo. "I come bearing gifts, Auror Potter!"

******

Harry was stopped in his tracks by the sight of Draco in his sitting room. He leant casually against the mantle, wearing robes that probably cost more than Harry made in a month and sporting a new haircut. He was grinning broadly.

Harry felt like an insensitive clod. He should have warned Draco he had bad news...

"Hi," he said somberly, trying (and failing) to muster up a convincing smile. "I'm really glad you're here."

That much was true, at least.

He moved to the sofa and asked Draco to sit with him, racking his brain for the best way to tell a man that his supposed best friends were out to get him.

"I've got an update on your case," he began, facing Draco fully. "Goyle is awaiting trial. He confessed to the attack." Harry bit the inside of his cheek. Just say it. "He claims Parkinson and Zabini are involved. I haven't yet been able to confirm or disprove that."

******

Draco quirked a brow and frowned as he was greeted so... Well, so far from what he had expected. Once instructed to sit, he did so with trepidation--though not enough to offer Harry any space, despite knowing it could be nothing but bad news from the tense expression the Auror wore. One arm stretched across the back of the sofa as the other settle on his lap. His legs were crossed, ankle over knee, as he listened to Harry's short explanation.

"... Excuse me?" he asked with a short bark of a chuckle. Harry wasn't the type to joke about such thigs, but it didn't quite click. "Pansy loves me, despite her occasional bad attitude. And Blaise has wanted me since his bollocks dropped. They're the only ones besides my parents who bothered to keep in touch. They always kept their standing visit with me every month, and Blaise even procured us private arrangements when the three of us would meet for coffee or dinner! Because he understands how I feel about the public now. He was even accommodating when I told him I would only see him with Pansy in tow because he knows what a horny bastard he is! Why would... They wouldn't."

Draco swallowed as he stared into Harry's unwavering eyes. He forced a laugh and shook his head a little.

"They're not the nicest people, but they wouldn't. Why would they? Why did Greg, even? We haven't spoken since the fire, not really, but he's not a killer! At least not..."

Draco trailed off, realizing he couldn't really say that in full confidence.

******

"I didn't say they did," Harry said gently, tactfully. "Just that Goyle has implicated them."

He'd have to be careful about how much he revealed given that the investigation was ongoing. "Goyle was motivated by revenge--for what happened to Crabbe and your apparent mistreatment of Parkinson," he explained. "According to him, the idea was Parkinson's and she provided the syringe, while Zabini orchestrated the time and location of the attack.

"He was under the effects of Veritaserum when he provided that information," he said significantly. "Ron talked to Parkinson and Zabini last night but they refused to answer any questions."

Draco blinked owlishly at him, hurt, confused, and eager to deny. Harry sighed. "Until we know one way or another, you need to be extra careful."

******

Draco shook his head slowly and turned away from Harry. One hand slipped over his mouth as his brows furrowed deeply and his frown became an anxious grimace. His breathing increased and his eyes stung with unshed tears. He shook his head again.

"Then it's true," he murmured, voice barely a whisper, thoughts racing, tumbling from his lips. "Pansy helped... She must have. But why? She works with the Healers at St. Mungo's, you know. I heard a rumor that muggle medical technologies may be integrated by the Healers in some sort of program starting in the next few years--very few people know about it. She's high enough in staff to have known... She very well could have produced the needle," Draco's stomach gave a queasy lurch. "I only know because I still use my father's connections to keep up. He told me about it recently, but nothing has been totally confirmed. Even the program is just an idea for now... She might have had to do research or something, or made an underling do it to avoid the extra work." The more he talked, the more he picked up steam until he was nearly frantic.

He stood up suddenly.

"I have to ask them. I'm sure I can figure this out! It must be a big misunderstanding."

******

"Draco, stop," Harry urged, taking him by the hand. "That's exactly what you shouldn't be doing right now." He coaxed the man to sit back down (and continued holding on in case he tried to bolt again).

"Maybe this is all a misunderstanding." (It wasn't. He knew it wasn't. But he was trying to be sensitive.) "If so, the investigation will clear that up. I promise to hurry everything along as much as I can. In the meantime," he fixed Draco with a focused gaze, "you shouldn't have any contact with them." It was critical Draco understood that piece. "If Goyle was right, it might not be safe for you to do so. Even if he was wrong, you're still in danger. Whoever set the trap in the garden wasn't him. I think you should have an Auror escort with you any time you leave your house from now until this is settled. And Draco," he softened his tone, "I'm sorry." He trailed his thumb over Draco's knuckles. "I know this is bloody awful."

******

"But, Harry, they won't talk to you!" Draco protested. It was strange, the almost high-pitched quality his voice took as he spoke. "One of the first things we learn as children is to always call a solicitor when it comes to discussing possible criminal involvement and the consequences thereof," he explained as he was coaxed back onto the cushy sofa once more. "Even if... Even if it's true, I know what buttons to push and what not to say. And I'm a friend, so they wouldn't think to mistrust me."

But even in the face of so much incontrovertible reason, Harry remained adamant. Draco sighed and let his head fall back, his free hand idly pulling at his cloak. He closed his eyes, as if silently denying it all would make it go away.

"...Maybe Greg misunderstood Pansy?" he offered meekly after a minute. "He has had a crush on her forever, so maybe he just _thought_ she wanted to get back at me? We had been engaged and she used to spout nonsense about our happy future together. Half the time in class she'd send me fluffy love notes... We had a lot of arguments about it."

Draco rubbed his face with one gloved hand. Eventually, he turned back toward Harry with a regretful smile.

"...So, when are you going to get mad at me and plot revenge? Or is punching a man in the face without warning still the preferred Gryffindor style?"

******

Harry quietly scoffed. "It was Hermione throwing punches, not me," he countered, unsure as to what he even had to be mad about.

"And I don't do revenge," he added, growing serious. "I've seen where it leads." _Far too many times_. "If things between us ever go south, I trust that we can handle it like adults." He, at least, wouldn't be arranging or executing any attacks--bloody Slytherins.

"As for Goyle, perhaps you're right. I hope to know soon either way." He leaned close to Draco and entreated, "Can you promise me you won't try to talk to the other two until it's sorted?"

******

There was nothing Draco could do for the time being, and he was not one to engage in piteous self loathing in front of others, so instead he shifted his thoughts around via well practiced Occlumency until all that was left in the forefront of his mind was Harry, the earnest look the Auror was giving him, and just enough numbing nothingness that Draco was able to sport a slightly flimsy seductive smile.

"You said something about... Auror escorts?" he leaned toward Harry as his voice deepened. "Does that mean you'll be following me around everywhere, all day and night?"

******

Draco was handling the news better than Harry expected.

True, his expression was brittle around the edges and his flirtation rang hollow, but Harry would take that over some of the alternatives.

"Heh. Not all the time," he clarified, relaxing somewhat and offering a half smile. "But I can be available during the day as long as you run plans by me first. And you've made a compelling case for me to keep my evenings open."

******

Draco stood from the couch once again, this time in order to carefully slip his furred outer robes away and hang them over his arm. Underneath he wore a silk tie wrapped inside the collar of a thin green button up tucked into black slacks. He used his teeth to carefully remove his gloves from his hands.

"I was in a hurry not to be late... The traffic back in from Russia is quite busy this time of day. Oh, I got you a gift--nothing big, I confess."

Draco dug into his pocket and produced a black velvet box. It was thin and square, and when he opened it he revealed a small crystalline disc with what appeared to be white specks suspended inside. He handed it to Harry carefully.

"Snowflakes," he said simply. "I believe you once said you loved how pretty the snow was (but not how it interfered with Quidditch)," Draco chuckled. "I don't know if you still feel the same, but I caught and crystallized them myself. Fresh."

******

Harry was stunned. "How do you know that?" he asked, marveling at the beautiful, thoughtful gift. "And what were you doing in Russia?"

He took the snowflakes out to inspect them up close. Their fractal patterns were visible through whatever Draco had crystallized them in. The smooth disc fit in the middle of his palm and he rubbed his thumb over its surface wonderingly.

He looked up at Draco who, with his slicked back hair and black and green outfit, looked so much like the adult version of the boy he had known in school it was unnerving.

"C'mere," he said, tugging him back down again. He pulled Draco into a kiss and ran both hands through his hair to loosen it.

******

Draco laughed as he was dragged down to the couch, purposely landing on the Auror's lap--awkwardly at first, until he got comfortable and settled on the man's thighs with his hands on Harry's waist. He grinned mischievously.

"I remember some things from Hogwarts. Like your insane love for Treacle Tart," Draco shook his head out like a dog for a second, further mussing up his once perfect locks. "Mother is in town. I'm staying at the Manor for now until she leaves next week. She wanted to go on a shopping spree and I demanded we go somewhere no one knows us, especially me... So, Russia. She also cut my hair. What do you think?"

******

"I like it," Harry grinned at the revised style, enjoying Draco's weight pressing him into the sofa. His hair, longer in the front than the back, hung freely around his prominent cheekbones. Harry tucked a bit behind Draco's ear, but most fell forward again. The look softened Draco's sharp features while still retaining the masculinity Harry preferred (if he was going to date a bloke, the bloke ought to look like one).

"Your mother's 'in town?'" he repeated after a moment, surprised. "Does she not live here?" Lucius resided at the Manor, he knew, because the Aurors kept tabs on him as one of the conditions of his parole. It was news to him that Narcissa wasn't there with the bastard.

******

Draco sat back on his haunches. "Oh, that's right," he said, "you wouldn't have known. Father was able to keep it out of the papers, but my mother lives in France now. I thought she was just on a long leave, but alas parents are separated and on the way to divorce. Which isn't to say they aren't friendly. Father even greeted her with a hug and they enjoyed a long tea time together upon her arrival. I don't know the reason for their separation and I only just discovered the news of the divorce myself, but I suspect it has something to do with the fact my father and I have more in common than our coloration and regrettable past behaviour," Draco shrugged as he paused in his explanation to take a much needed breath. "I always suspected Father had something of a crush on Severus... When he was still part of the council he would use that authority to visit the school after hours on the pretense of meetings with my Godfather for one 'official' thing or another. That, and he had taken a fancy to a retired Quidditch player who looks almost exactly like the man. It wasn't until Severus died that Father finally woke from his insanity."

Draco decided to rake his hands through Harry's hair for fun until he could properly see the famous scar. He leaned forward and gave it a quick kiss.

"So, not too painful to see it end. Honestly, they haven't had a real marriage for years--it's time they straightened themselves out," Draco mused. "Besides, Mother is young and beautiful, still. She'll find someone else. As for Father? Well, he's still quite handsome himself, but he's too paranoid for anything other than flings at this point."

******

Harry didn't know what to say. Every last detail of Draco's too casual explanation was a surprise, except that Narcissa was beautiful and Lucius paranoid and possibly insane. The bit about him being bent (and with _Severus_ , no less) was altogether too disturbing for contemplation. A small, petty part of Harry considered breaking things off with Draco for no reason other than not wanting to have anything in common with the elder Malfoy. But that was stupid. He liked Draco and the strange thing they had going. He wouldn't let Lucius jeopardize his happiness, intentionally or otherwise.

"Well. All right then," he replied simply, eager to move on. With a lopsided grin, he added, "She did a good job on your hair."

He looped his arms around Draco's waist and thought. He'd had a plan for dinner out, but he wasn't sure Draco would feel up for it given everything. Besides the emotional upset of the case, international portkeying was exhausting.

"You hungry?" he asked.

******

"After a day of Mother's shopping in one of the coldest countries in the world? Starving," Draco linked his hands behind Harry's neck. "And yes, she did. Rather nice, isn't it? I got to keep some of the length while still retaining some dignity."

He laughed. "Guess I'm not a princess anymore, eh? Though I admit, I think I look sexy with long hair... Then again, when I am not?" There was plenty of mock snobbishness behind the smirk he sported. "So, my not-so-charming knight, what did you have in mind? And yes, you're still a knight and I still expect to be protected if a dragon comes by. Or murderous plants. Speaking of... Have you ever heard of the Tentacular? Curious new sex toy for the tentacle fetish. It's based off the Devil's Snare, of all things!"

******

"Merlin, take a breath, Draco," Harry chided, shaking his head fondly and doing his damnedest to catch up with the out-of-control carriage of Draco's thoughts.

"A: You're still a princess," he smirked. "It's much more about your attitude than your appearance. B: I will keep you safe. It's my job and I have a vested interest in your well being." He gave Draco a quick, sweet kiss, ignoring the slight embarrassment that accompanied the mushy display. "And C: Godrick, no. I am quite certain I don't want to know anything more about it. But if you're adventurous enough for freaky sex toys, I'm sure you'll be up for street food. Since you're starving, let's go now and we can come back here after."

******

Draco rolled his eyes at Harry for the princess quip, but the kiss easily stole his attention. He wanted to lean in for more, and was already headed that way, his lips gently grazing Harry's when the idea of street food was mentioned. Draco leaned back and raised an incredulous brow.

"Street food? As in food we find on the street? I thought your cupboards were full. If you were having that bad a time with money, I could have bought--"

******

Harry rolled his eyes hard enough to sprain them. "That, right there, is why you are a _princess_ , princess," he announced dryly before toppling Draco sideways onto the couch and standing. "We are going to buy the food," he explained (slowly) and offered Draco a hand up. "From a streetside vendor. It is going to be cheap, greasy, and delicious. And you will thank me when we're through."

He pulled Draco against his chest and apparated them before he could argue. They arrived with a loud pop in a dirty alleyway just down the street from his favourite fish and chips stall.

"Don't start making judgments based on how this looks," he warned. "It's just a convenient apparation point."

******

"You couldn't even give me a chance to change?" Draco clucked his tongue. "Now I'm over dressed." He held his hands at his sides and looked down at his outfit disapprovingly. "Fine," he sighed, since the point was now moot. "As long as you're paying. I will reserve judgement until after I eat the food. Until then, I will attempt to be nice. Attempt," he underscored. "No promises."

He took Harry's hand into his left as he used his right to tug and pull off the tie still wrapped about his neck. He folded the piece skillfully with one hand before sliding it into a pocket.

"... Greasy," he grimaced flatly. "Joy."

******

"Why would you want to change? You look good." Harry replied, leading them onto the busy street.

He wasn't so keen on the handholding, but given the couple of days Draco had had and the fact he was venturing rather far outside of his comfort zone for Harry, he swallowed his displeasure and focused on the positives--the weather was nice, Draco's mood was surprisingly good, and he was about to eat his weight in chips. There might even be shagging in his future. Plenty of things to be happy about.

He approached the stall under a red and white (and dirt) striped umbrella, said hullo to Mike the vendor (ignoring his dramatic eyebrow raise at the fact Harry was holding hands with a bloke), ordered for two, and handed over muggle paper money, telling Mike to keep the change.

With an unqualified grin, Mike prepared their order and handed over two hot paper cones, heaped with golden brown fish and perfect salty crisps. Harry thanked him and lead Draco away a few paces. "Do you want to walk and eat, find a place to sit, or head back home?"

******

Draco was only half-listening. The entire walk down the street Harry hadn't really held his hand. Sure, their hands were connected, but Harry's grip was loose and almost board-like. Draco had squeezed and in exchange Harry twitched. Apparently he didn't like holding hands. Draco's Malfoy pride was the only thing that kept him from dropping Harry's hand away like a stone, and once they had their food he used the excuse of needing both hands to eat to let go. He frowned down at his food, and for more than the greasy newspaper with their so-called dinner inside.

_He asked for patience. Patience... What if there is just too much between us after all? Does he just hate holding hands... Or is it me?_

Draco sighed, slowly registering the question.

"Whatever, I suppose. Walking is fine. Been a while."

******

Draco looked none too pleased about the food but he hadn't even tried it yet. Harry was irritated by his bad attitude.

"I know it doesn't look pretty, but it's good," he asserted. "Just give it a chance yeah?" He popped a chip into his mouth to show Draco it wasn't poison. Unfortunately, it was hot enough to burn. He tried to surreptitiously suck in air to cool his scorched mouth.

"There's a park about a half mile that way," he pointed down the street. "You up for a longer walk?"

******

Draco chuckled as Harry quite obviously burned his tongue. He grinned and rolled his eyes.

"Try blowing on hot food first, maybe?" he lifted up a chip and studied it for a moment. It wasn't exactly what he had expected. "I am not judging the food... Yet. I was judging your terrible hand holding qualities and inability to recognize the steam rising off your chip."

Draco blew across the fried potato slice and carefully lifted it to his lips. It felt dry, but he could see the rest of its mates glistening with oil from the fish and the fryer. Once he knew it wouldn't burn him he popped the whole thing into his mouth.

"...Hm," he said thoughtfully. "Unexpectedly spicy."

******

The chips weren't spicy. Not even a little. They had a dash of pepper, sure, but that hardly constituted _spicy_. Harry made a mental note to be cautious about introducing Draco to takeaway curry.

"What do you mean my handholding qualities are terrible?" he demanded, affronted, as they walked along the street. "I held your hand the whole time before we got our food, even when Mike pulled a face."

He bit into a piece of fish and forgot some of his indignation. Warm, flaky meat in the center and perfectly crisp batter outside. It was brilliant as ever.

******

"If by holding hands you mean letting me cling and you not jerking away, then of course you were fine," Draco picked a shred of fish up from the cone. He stopped in his tracks as he sampled the well-fried meat and made an approving hum.

"Actually, the chips are a bit lackluster... But this fish is rather delectable. I wonder what batter is used?"

He began to walk again as he dug back into his fish. He was even brave enough to sample the two meal components together and found it wasn't so bad.

"Now, back to hands... It was like trying to hang onto a doll or something. No grip at all. Not one for holding hands?" he pressed casually. Ish.

******

"I didn't realize I'd be judged so harshly for my technique," Harry said around a bite, arching a brow. "Maybe you should give me a tutorial when we're done eating so that I won't disappoint you next time."

Even with the slightly bickering quality to their conversation (or maybe because of it), he was having a good time. He chomped four chips at once and lead Draco around a bend. The park was in sight now, green treetops over a wrought iron fence.

******

"Apparently I judge everything harshly. Just ask--" Draco shook his head before he could finish that thought and instead huffed a laugh. "How can you be so talented at blow jobs and fingering, but utter pants at something as simple as hand holding? Honestly!"

There was a slightly teasing quality to his tone, at least. He ate far more delicately than Harry, and by the time they reached the park he wasn't even half through.

"Want more chips? They're good, but I'm growing full. Touch the fish, though, and I'll bite you."

******

Harry smirked. "Promise?" he asked cheekily, breaking off a piece of Draco's fish and eating it in one bite.

******

Draco gasped in horror. He growled and began to advance on Harry, eyes narrowed to slits. He grabbed his lover by the collar of his shirt and proceeded to leave many biting kisses along his neck--latching on like a lamprey.

******

Harry laughed and then gasped at Draco's retaliation for the stolen fish. He attached himself to Harry's neck as if he were a vampire, peppering him with kisses that were sure to leave marks.

Harry cast a subtle notice-me-not and shuffled until the park's gate was at his back (with Draco clinging to him all the while). The bars were uncomfortable but he didn't care. He dropped his newspaper cone, held on to the fence with both hands, and turned his head to give Draco more access.

******

Unfortunately for the surprisingly eager Harry, Draco was satisfied by leaving the man's neck bruised with love bites. With one hand he held his cone, and with the other he briefly cupped and pressed into Harry's growing erection... Just before letting go and turning to walk away--attention once again on his food. He quickly ate the remainder of his fish.

"Rubbish does not belong on the ground, Harry," he admonished playfully with a smug smirk to match. He turned to quirk a brow at the man. "Coming?"

******

"Apparently not," Harry groused, but he stooped to pick up his newspaper anyway. He surreptitiously adjusted his trousers and jogged to catch up to Draco.

"The gentlemanly thing to do is to cast a glamour, at least," hey said, waving at his neck. "I can't see what needs to be covered up. And before you suggest otherwise, I am not about to walk around in public looking like a randy teenager." Inappropriate erections notwithstanding.

******

"Oh, but you look so good that way: ruffled and marked by me. The bites are most becoming, I assure you!" Draco handed his cone to Harry. It had a few chips left, but nothing more. He pulled a hankerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his mouth until all the leftover grease was gone. He stuffed it away once he was done.

"Look, there's a receptacle. You throw those away and I'll find a shady spot to sit down."

He didn't wait for an answer. He walked from the park's path and out toward a gathering of trees.

******

Harry stewed.

"Hey, princess," he called out, wadding up Draco's cone--chips and all. When Draco turned to look, Harry threw the rubbish ball at him. "I'm not your house-elf. You can clean up after yourself."

He stomped over to where Draco stood in the relative privacy of a copse of trees and pointed his wand at his own neck to cast a broad glamour over the whole thing since the prat refused to do it for him. He then planted himself in the grass with his back against a broad trunk and looked challenge up at Draco.

******

No one, not a single muggle, was out in the park where they settled so for the moment Draco felt safe about taking out his own pale wand and twirling it between his fingers. He moved to take his usual place on Harry's lap, electrified by the fire in Harry's brilliant green eyes.

"You're so right! I've been bad today. Care to punish me for it? Oh, and... _Finite_."

Draco dispelled the glamour on Harry's neck. The tip of his wand tickled a bruise for just a second before slowly traveling down to the hollow of his throat--down, down to the superficial cleft of his bosom before traveling back up to the Auror's lips.

"Here. You can take my wand... Because as my knight, I suppose I don't need it. When you're here."

******

Draco was as good at banishing Harry's anger as he was at inciting it, it seemed.

"I think I will," he replied, voice a silky combination of sex and threat. He tugged Draco's wand from his unresistant hold and set it in the grass near his thigh. He then took Draco's slender wrists in hand and pinned them loosely behind his back, making his chest open as his spine arched forward.

Harry bent his head and found one of Draco's nipples through the thin material of his shirt, mouthing it until it protruded visibly through the dark, wet spot above it. He gave it a sharp nip and caught Draco's eye to rumble, "Is _punishment_ what you want?"

******

"If punishment is what you want to give," Draco whispered back as he slowly licking his lips. He smirked, his eyes slightly hooded as he stared down his pointed nose. "Especially if it involves more of this."

******

Harry's smile was all teeth.

He gathered Draco's wrists in one of his hands and pulled tight. Draco would be able to break free of his grip easily if he wanted to, but he didn't want to, so Harry pressed his advantage. He slid his free hand between them to unbutton Draco's shirt to the bottom of his sternum and pushed it off his shoulders. He then lowered his head to Draco's neglected nipple and gave it the same treatment he'd given the other--broad licks, lingering kisses, and gentle bites...along with a few not-so-gentle ones.

******

Draco didn't struggle, as expected, but he did gasp as his hands and arms were pulled and forced his back to dip further backward. He turned his gaze to Harry's ministrations, biting his lip and furrowing his brow as the sensitive nub was tended to so thoroughly.

A small whimper escaped as Draco was unexpectedly, and rather roughly, bitten. His cock quickly began to harden.

******

With Draco pressed so snugly against him, Harry could feel quite readily the effect his attentions were having on him.

The feeling was definitely mutual.

But Harry ignored his demanding prick. This wasn't a seduction, it was punishment. (As requested.) He rolled Draco's nipple between his lips and grazed it with the edge of his teeth, earning another thrilling whimper. He gave it a last, lingering suck and promptly leaned back against the tree, releasing Draco's wrists and smirking up at him.

He summoned the discarded wad of newspaper from where it lay and handed it to Draco. "Rubbish doesn't belong on the ground," he teased, parroting Draco's words from earlier as he deposited the stunned man onto the ground. "I'll make sure we find a bin on our walk," he added cheekily, standing and dusting himself off. He made sure Draco's wand was safely stowed in his pocket and not anywhere it could be used against him.

******

Draco scoffed as he stood from where Harry had sprawled him.

"We just passed one, you twit." He walked back to the aluminum drum being used as a rubbish bin and tossed the cone away. He would have vanished it, but Harry had--quite smartly--kept his wand. Once finished, Draco adjusted his shirt (not bothering to button it) until it was straight and the wet mark over his nipple wasn't sticking to his skin so much. With a small frown, he willed it to dry faster.

"It looks like I am lactating," the Slytherin complained. "As soon as we find a properly private place, I am going to suck your prick so hard you'll wonder if it's going to fall off!"

******

Said prick leapt at the idea. "Is that supposed to be a threat?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. Draco's tone indicated as much but the words were nothing but enticing. So much so, Harry considered apparating them straight to Grimmauld in full view of any muggle passersby, Statute of Secrecy be damned.

In the meantime, he grasped Draco's hand, determined to make a better show of holding it on the walk back. Draco hadn't challenged him as such, but his snide commentary was as good as one.

_What, like I'm not man enough to hold a bloke's hand in public? I defeated Voldemort at 17, for Godrick's sake. This is nothing._

Mind thusly made up, Harry interlaced their fingers and held tightly, squaring his shoulders and daring anyone to look at them askance.

******

"I guess we both like it rough," Draco breathed a laugh at Harry's sudden, almost adorable eagerness.

Having his hand suddenly taken was surprising, but only for a second. As their fingers interlocked, Draco curled his across the warm back of Harry's hand between his roughened knuckles. He squeezed to show his approval of the new tact, and promptly rolled his eyes at the wary way Harry glared around at the few evening passersby. Draco was far more comfortable than the angry looking Auror who appeared to have something to prove.

"So, what now? We only just arrived at the park... Walk some more? Public sex? Or head back to your place?"

******

Shagging in the park seemed like a brilliant idea--it meant almost instant gratification and the weather outside really was quite pleasant that evening--but Harry couldn't risk it. The leeches at the Prophet had snapped pictures of him in places he hadn't expected them before. Plus it was getting dark.

"I have to veto public sex, I'm afraid. It could jeopardize my bid for Minister someday," he joked. He had absolutely no intention of seeking political office. As it was, he got more politics than he could stand in the DMLE.

"I'm up for more walking, though, if that's what you'd like."

He meant that truly but he hoped Draco would opt to head back. (That blowjob sounded better by the moment...)

******

"Hm, no. I've had enough of walking for one day. After all, I did head straight for your place after a full day with Mother. Let's go back and... Relax a bit," and there was plenty of suggestion with that remark, wasn't there? "In fact, you should carry me! I'm running low on energy and if I am going to bear the label 'princess', then I should be entitled to a few perks--including riding my knight. _And_ being carried."

Draco gave a rather cheesy laugh.

******

"Ha ha," Harry deadpanned, though inside he celebrated the fact Draco was thinking along the same lines as him. Mostly. (You could never be too sure when it came to Draco's thinking.) "Dating me isn't perk enough for you?" he joked.

They crunched along the gravel path and out the park gate, making their way at a leisurely pace to a secluded apparation spot.

"You never did say: how did you like dinner?"

******

"It was," Draco breathed as if he were trying to find some silver lining in his cloud of snark, but then smiled, "surprisingly edible."

He lifted Harry's hand to his lips and kissed the back, before letting them both drop--still joined--to their sides once more.

"I wouldn't say no to a second helping sometime."

Once they stopped, Draco turned to face Harry directly. He quirked a fine, silver-blonde brow at the Gryffindor.

"Have you ever heard of a sixty-nine? I had mentioned it before. I wouldn't mind trying that either..."

******

Harry snorted and whisked them both to Grimmauld before replying. He wondered at what point he should worry that the off-the-wall, lewd things Draco said were becoming less shocking to him.

"I'm not a fan of the position myself," he answered truthfully once outside his entryway. "It's too distracting. Someone's liable to injure their bits at some point trying it. But I'm willing to give it a go with you." (It certainly wasn't _all_ bad.)

"For 'relaxation' purposes," he winked, recalling Draco's earlier verbiage.

******

"Yes, for relaxation," Draco nodded primly. "And research for my books. No worries--nothing based on our little adventures," he was quick to add that last part before Harry could take the statement wrong. "But knowing one's subject first hand makes for better writing, you see."

He walked away from Harry, loosening his grip until their hands fell away as he strode up to the door of Grimmauld. Apparently apparating into the place wasn't as easy as apparating out, which was more than fine to him. He turned to lean his back against the door and suck in his bottom lip--eyes wandering over Harry with an obvious leer.

"Well then... Take me inside so I can exact the revenge I mentioned before. You know, the one where I promised to let you fuck my throat?"

******

" _Merlin_ ," Harry groaned, nearly stumbling in his haste to get up the last stair and open the door (so much for the dampening of his reactions). He fell into Draco and took the opportunity to snog the breath out of him while coaxing the wards to let them pass.

Draco would have tumbled backwards when the door opened behind him if Harry hadn't caught him. It just so happened that scenario fit rather nicely into his original plan to carry the ridiculous ponce over the threshold. (If that was all he wanted in exchange for the wonderfully wicked things he promised to do to Harry, he was happy to oblige.) Even though Draco was several inches taller, he was slight; it was easy enough for Harry to swing through the momentum to get an arm under Draco's knees and scoop him up.

"M'lady," he smirked, striding into the house.


	17. And Now for Something Completely Different... Table Smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is I, Prinn! I come forth to once again reprise my role as Editer and Updater as Playout will unfortunately be unable to do so for an undetermined amount if time. Fear not! She will still be working on her own stuff and we have a list of works yet unveiled for you to enjoy.
> 
> Now, take this dirtiness as an apology as we tarry forth! 
> 
> (It took me about five tries to get this chapter up so I do hope you enjoy :3)

"How noble," Draco replied dryly. When he had talked about being carried, he didn't mean bridal style (though he hadn't really meant it at all... Even of it did leave butterflies in his stomach.) "Just don't be a prick and drop me somewhere hard, Harry. I mean it! Bruised arses are not sexy!"

Both arms had been forced around Harry's neck and he instinctively curved himself into the Auror to center his weight. In the mean time, and it was possibly quite a dumb move (especially considering his most recent request), Draco leaned in close to breathe gently on Harry's ear while nipping and licking the shell.

*****

Draco acted like he couldn't care less about the fact Harry was displaying a rather impressive feat of strength--Auror training was rigorous--in honoring his absurd demand. (He was skinny, but he didn't weigh nothing.) The way he clung to Harry and set right in to nuzzling the side of his face told a different story, however. 

Harry held tightly and moved into the house. He wasn't going to attempt stairs with his burden, so he made a beeline for the formal dining room, which Draco had yet to see. (Harry didn't use it except for the rare occasion he hosted a family get together; still, it was a fair sight nicer than it had been in the days of the Order.)

"Open the door, would you?" he asked, slightly breathless and unwilling to risk dropping Draco in trying to do it himself. 

*****

Draco held out a hand when asked and quickly made work of the door, pushing it open. His arm returned to its place around Harry neck as his eyes roamed about the room. It was far more impressive than Draco would have guessed, despite the place being an ancestral home (after all, the man had mismatched furniture in his sitting room and apparently no matching silverware either.)

"Very nice," Draco whispered in approval as he turned his attentions back to Harry's ear. He took the lobe between his teeth and nipped and sucked on the bit of flesh as if it were a delicious candy.

*****

Harry gingerly set Draco on the nearest end of the long, polished table, detaching him from his ear in the process. He moved in between Draco's legs and took advantage of the fact he hadn't bothered re-buttoning his shirt. Harry pushed it aside and fixed his mouth on the side of Draco's neck, sucking hard to create a vibrant lovebite (in retaliation for the ones Draco had left on him).

*****

Draco tilted his head and widened his legs to give Harry better access. He smirked and thought with amusement, _Apparently Harry wanted that table play after all._

Draco laced his legs around Harry's to bring him closer while his hands slid around to the back and over The Auror's ass. His hands dipped into Harry's back pockets and squeezed. 

"Hm, your arse is firmer than I expected... Could probably bounce a coin off this thing."

*****

Harry snorted, feeling smug. "I work out almost every day," he replied, flexing his arse beneath Draco's palms. "But they're not just vanity muscles." (They were that, too; he felt he had to compensate for his height.) "My job can be very physically demanding at times. When I'm not wasting away with paperwork, that is."

He set to work on the rest of Draco's buttons and rid him of the shirt, letting his hands roam freely over the delightful expanse of his long, lean torso and kissing a path from his collar bone to his mouth. 

*****

"Yet you don't mind flaunting it," Draco said with nothing less than absolute approval. He didn't bother to help with removing his own shirt, but Harry's? He grabbed Harry's T-shirt around the collar and ripped it open with another self-satisfied smirk.

"Let's see more of those fabulous muscles, eh?"

*****

Harry was torn between being pissed--he liked that shirt--and even more turned on. He opted for the latter, deciding Draco had just declared open season on his own clothes, whether he liked it or not. His trousers would get a stay of execution (because Harry was a fan), but whatever he had on underneath was fair game. 

Harry pushed until Draco's back was flush with the tabletop, hitched his legs up to his waist, and ground their pelvises together. 

*****

Draco fell back against the table, but before he had a chance to make any smart quips about their situation the Gryffindor was on him again--roughly driving his cock into Draco's own hardened member. He gasped aloud, his hands gripping Harry's waist tight.

"Clothes. Off," he breathed between grunts. "Now."

*****

Once again, Harry was conflicted. (Draco had that effect on him.) 

Clothes off seemed like a brilliant idea and he was eager to comply, but doing so would mean a cessation of the really excellent dry humping that was happening just then, and that was a hard potion to swallow. 

Ultimately Harry decided that clothes off would afford Draco the opportunity to make good on his threat/promise and that was enough motivation for him to pull back, undo his trousers and cast them aside, and set to on Draco's. 

*****

Draco lifted his hips after Harry made quick work of his trousers. Only a pair of dark-blue pants were left, thin and silk--his cock jutting out beneath the fabric. He pulled himself up further along the table until he was lying in the middle of it (or half lying, half sitting) and motioned for Harry to follow with a crook of his finger.

"Bring you and your hard friend over here. I want it in my mouth."

*****

Harry wouldn't be able to look at a Christmas meal on that table the same way again, not with Draco spread out like a feast before him. Godrick but the man was delectable in nothing but his expensive briefs. 

He was thankful he'd invested in something sturdy when he hopped up and crawled over Draco's prone form--the table barely shifted beneath their combined weight. It was also more than long enough for Draco to stretch out without any part of him dangling off the ends. 

Harry mouthed his way up Draco's leg and to his prick. He licked and sucked it through the fabric of his pants before freeing it entirely and swallowing the first few inches down. 

*****

Draco gasped hotly as Harry suddenly began to swallow his cock. His pants had been tossed to the floor. It was another pleasant shock, having Harry eagerly eat his prick--his throat and mouth already constricting so perfectly on the sensitive length.

"Not--Nn...! Not that I'm complaining, but... Wasn't it supposed to be... Me sucking you? Or did you change your mind about--holy fuck, your tongue! About... What I offered earlier?"

*****

Harry grinned, lips stretched around Draco's prick, and drew off with a hard suck. He gave the head a final lick with the tip of his tongue and resumed his ascent up Draco's body. 

"I got distracted," he replied, kissing his way up Draco's flat, smooth stomach to the hollow of his throat, which he flicked with his tongue. 

He nipped the edge of Draco's jaw and then his lower lip. Propping himself up on his arms and gazing down into Draco's wide-blown pupils, he asked, "What now?"

Answering his own question, he rolled his hips to slide his prick against Draco's, aided by the slickness of his spit. 

*****

Draco's head fell back against the table, but his gaze never left Harry's. He moaned and grinned as Harry began to slide their cocks together once more. It was an oddly heady feeling, Draco decided as he opened his legs for better rutting access, to have his childhood crush so eager for him. He couldn't contain his hands--one squeezed a full cheek and slid between to tickle at the Auror's hole as the other slithered up Harry's back and down his sides. Draco thrust hard into his partner from the table.

"If you're this frisky now, I wonder how you'll be if we have sex?" Draco chuckled darkly. "Shall we rut and save the suck for later, you beast?"

*****

Harry felt an instinctive urge to clench and retreat from Draco's wandering fingers, but then he thought: if he was going to do this whole gay thing, he may as well do it right. 

He willed himself to relax and let Draco explore. There was no other way to find out for certain whether he liked it or not. One hand rubbed his back comfortingly while the other stroked and pressed light circles between his cheeks. Once Harry stopped freaking out about it, he determined that the sensation was decidedly not bad. It still felt odd to have his arsehole fondled, but it was also surprisingly sensitive in a way he felt low in his belly and sparking through his prick. 

Of course he'd had this entire philosophical debate while thrusting against another man's erection--and enjoying it quite enthusiastically--so it was really a matter of splitting hairs. 

Unfortunately, the unyielding wood of the table was destroying his knees; loathe as he was to stop, things needed to be changed. 

"Actually," he responded, full-throated and low, "I was rather looking forward to that suck." He punctuated the words with another firm roll of his hips. 

*****

"Want to turn over or just thrust into my mouth?" Draco asked in a dry, raspy voice. He was enjoying the delicious friction between their cocks, so much that when Harry would move to pause Draco would continue it by jerking his hips forward for more. "Want to fuck my throat, Harry? Or do you want me to fuck it for you...?"

*****

Sweet Merlin, Draco had a filthy mouth. And Harry loved it. 

He'd never been with someone who got him so excited with words alone. But then, Draco'd been doing that for the last year without either of them realizing it with his books. 

"You," he answered ineloquently, short of breath and dizzy with lust. It didn't seem wise for him to control the action--he could hurt Draco and he didn't want that. He just wanted the man's pretty, vulgar mouth on his prick. 

He rolled off Draco and scooted to the edge of the table. (Someone whined when the contact was broken, but he honestly wasn't sure who.) His prick lay heavy and full against his lower abdomen. He took it in hand and leered at Draco, giving it a long, languid stroke. 

*****

Draco grinned as Harry rolled off to the side. He sat up, first swatting Harry's hand away from his prick and then moved to straddle him--shoving the man aside to straighten him up on the table to avoid falling off. It was only just wide enough for them to lay tightly side by side. Draco leaned down to give the Auror's lips a hard, demanding kiss that only lasted a second before Draco was sitting up again. 

"Tell me what you want me to do. I know what you want, but I like it when you boss me around... which is a surprise, considering I usually hate that from other people."

*****

It was a fair request. It really was. Especially considering what Draco was about to do for him. Harry was just having difficulty with words at the moment. 

He racked his brain to think of something to say that would sound even remotely sexy (rather than him coming off like a grunting cave man). But then he thought, bugger it, he was trying too hard. Draco, with his expansive vocabulary and an intellect that rivaled Hermione's, got him hard as iron with the simplest of phrases. Harry could give him exactly what he asked for. 

"I want you to suck me off." He licked his lips, still tingling from Draco's bruising kiss. "I want you to lick my prick and swallow it down and suck until I can't see straight." He reached out for Draco's hand and wrapped it around his aching prick (since he wasn't allowed to touch it himself, apparently). "I want you to fondle my balls and kiss just the tip and drive me mad with lust." He left his hand over Draco's and wanked himself with both, groaning as he did. "And then I want you to take me as deep as you can and make me cry your name when I come."

*****

Draco groaned deep from within his chest as Harry spoke and forced (well, not really _forced_ ) him to pull at his cock. He gripped the length tight in his long fingers and squeezed with every upward thrust.

"Fuck, Harry... That voice you use, that's why I let you boss me around..." Draco breathed as he released Harry's cock and gently dislodged his hand. He began to crawl backward along Harry's ready body, peppering kisses down his chest and stomach as he went. "Tell me more..."

*****

Harry held himself up on his forearms, core flexed, so he could watch. 

Circe's circlet, could Draco move any slower he groused internally (impatient for warm, wet heat engulfing him). 

"Hurry, Draco," he urged, voice rough and ragged. "I don't need foreplay. I need your dirty, sexy mouth making me forget how to breathe."

*****

"Who says it's foreplay?" Draco smirked up at Harry with an evil twinkle in his eye. "You denied me my chance to explore your body properly before, remember? Just be glad I'm not so cruel as to leave you waiting an hour while I poke," Draco pressed a finger against Harry's sphincter again, "and prod." His finger circled the hole as if to slip inside, but instead Draco slid the tip away and across the underside of the Auror's testicles. 

Draco gave Harry's stomach a final nip; despite his words, he placed himself between Harry's legs and leaned down to lick a thick, wet stripe up the length of the Gryffindor's cock--from base to tip, where his tongue flicked off.

*****

Harry's breath hitched. Thank Merlin Draco wasn't in a cruel mood. At least, no more than usual. 

Draco's questing fingers moved away from his arse, but as he licked Harry's prick like a lolly and prepared to take it into his mouth, Harry reckoned there was probably no better time for him to experiment with, well...

"I want you to put a finger in me, Draco," he directed, almost shocked he'd managed to say it out loud. His stomach muscles jumped and spasmed when Draco lifted his head and fixed him with his liquid metal stare. 

*****

Draco quirked a brow at the Auror shaking with need below him. His grin had fallen to a surprised frown.

"Are you certain you're ready?" Despite asking, Draco lifted one hand to Harry's lips and pressed two of his fingers there. "Suck." 

*****

Harry did suck Draco's fingers, but not because he thought that would be sufficient lubrication--he knew enough about the mechanics (thanks to a book from Hermione, embarrassingly) to insist on real lube when it came to. No, he did it because it was fucking hot. 

He locked eyes with Draco, opened his mouth and twirled his tongue around his fingers, pulling them in and sucking lewdly. He maintained eye contact while virtually fellating the digits, even when he wordlessly summoned his wand to conjure lube.

*****

Draco thrust his fingers into Harry's mouth gently, letting Harry do most of the work. His other hand pressed into Harry's hip. Once his fingers were wet enough, Draco pulled them slowly away from the Auror's mouth and slipped them back down toward his hole. 

"Well? Lube me now or I'm going in, and you may want to hope your saliva is slippery."

*****

Heart thumping wildly, Harry conjured a generous amount of lube into Draco's waiting palm. 

"Suck me while you do it," he prompted. 

He didn't want to think too hard about what was happening while it happened. 

*****

Draco chuckled. The amount of lube Harry conjured was far more than needed and almost covered his entire hand verus a dollop into his palm. The blonde felt rather smug about putting the Auror into such a mind scrambling position as to not be able to concentrate on a simple spell. 

"I'm going to suck you so hard you'll forget your name," Draco promised in a low, dark voice before sliding his tongue down Harry's length again and engulfing the head once he arrived.

*****

"Nng." Harry's eyes slid shut at the overwhelming sensation of Draco's mouth finally closing around his prick, but he forced them back open. He wanted to watch. 

"You look so good with my prick in your mouth," he rumbled, lifting a hand to caress the side of Draco's face, over his hollowed cheek and into his soft, shiny hair. He knotted his fingers there--not pulling, just holding--and bathed in the feelings washing over and through him. 

"Almost as good as you did with my fingers in your arse."

*****

Draco hollowed his cheeks and sucked as hard as he could. He slipped down a few more inches, just before his gag reflex woke up, and sucked and licked before pulling off with a wet pop.

"I can't wait to see what noises you'll make," one lubricated finger slowly began to slip into Harry's entrance, "when I have my fingers in you."

Draco didn't wait for an answer. He dove back onto Harry's cock until he was nearly at the hilt--constricting his throat and moaning obscenely against the flesh. His finger slipped inside carefully until it was sheathed to the third knuckle.

*****

It wasn't that Harry didn't notice the finger now firmly lodged in his arse--it would be rather difficult to miss--but the sensation was somewhat lost in the bloody incredible feeling of Draco sucking him with skill that defied his lack of experience. 

His body seemed torn between wanting to let go of everything in passive surrender to Draco's mouth and clenching in rejection of the foreign object probing somewhere it didn't belong. His arse didn't hurt, which he was glad of, but the experience wasn't exactly pleasant, either--Draco's finger felt invasive and unwelcome. But the man had bloody well come on Harry's fingers so there had to be something he was missing. 

He was determined to find out what it was. 

He reclined on the table and spread his legs wide, feet flat on its surface and knees in the air, focusing on the wet sucking heat of Draco's mouth and willing his body to relax and enjoy. 

*****

Draco could feel Harry tensing, most likely from discomfort. He had never really been with a bloke, he claimed, so this would be an entirely new experience for him--something that made Draco oddly happy. Once Harry began to relax from his finger, he began to thrust the digit in search of that special bundle of nerves that would make the Auror howl (all while bobbing his head up and down with firm suction.)

*****

Draco's finger was harder to ignore when it was moving (but then, so was his mouth). Harry continued to feel conflicted about the whole affair, relying on his Gryffindor stubbornness to see him through, when Draco touched something inside him that made his whole body flex. It was almost like a stunner...except really fucking awesome. 

"Do that again," he breathlessly commanded. 

*****

Draco smirked against Harry's cock as he reacted to his first prostate massage. Draco found the delicate bump again and pressed while taking Harry's full length again--sucking and swallowing as hard as he could without digging his teeth into the skin (some digging was inevitable, but he didn't want it to hurt.)

*****

Draco seemed to he doing his best to live up to his threat to suck Harry's prick off. The blowjob was a bit toothy for his liking, but otherwise good. 

When Draco rubbed his finger against Harry's prostate again, the whole experience went up a notch in his estimation. Everything was suddenly great. (Draco was great. The oral sex was great. Even the finger in Harry'sarse was great.) His nerve endings flared and his prick spasmed and his muscles contracted hard enough to lift his feet off the table. 

" _Ooh yeah_ ," he groaned, the words long drawn out. 

*****

Draco continued to press against the special button that made Harry spasm as he slowly slipped off his cock and began to lick the head like a delicious lolly--lapping with the broad end of his tongue and probing the slit with the stiffened tip.

"Come for me, Harry," Draco murmured before diving onto his cock once more.

*****

If Draco kept that up, Harry wouldn't be able to defy his order if he tried. Sweet Merlin, he hoped he wouldn't stop. Harry'd had his fair share of blowjobs and, in his opinion, there was almost no such thing as a bad one (provided the person doing it followed basic etiquette and safety protocol). But Draco's enthusiasm, his wholehearted commitment to the task and seemingly genuine enjoyment of doing it, combined with the sensations radiating from deep inside, put this blowjob in a class all its own.

Harry was close. Shudders wracked his frame and his body began to curl in on itself.

"Don't stop," he begged. 

*****

Harry shuddered and spasmed as he came deep into Draco's ready throat. He stopped bobbing to suckle on the head and greedily devour the seed that spilled forth--like a man in the desert without water. Once he knew for certain Harry was emptied, Draco pulled off and sat back on his haunches with a smug smirk--lips red and eyes glazed.

"Well, I feel somewhat avenged. How about you?" The question was casual as Draco planted his hands on the Auror's hips and squeezed.

*****

Harry's orgasm caught him by surprise--both in its suddenness and its intensity. Seemingly every muscle in his body tensed at once and he came on a silent scream, the pleasure exploding outward from his belly rather than his prick. Draco drew up, but not off, swallowing every last drop as Harry's bollocks emptied themselves, triggering another blinding spasm and a choked sob. By the time the aftershocks began to subside, his breath rattled in his lungs and spots danced before his vision. 

Draco withdrew his finger, causing Harry to whimper, and smirked down at him. (His eyes didn't need to be open to know Draco was smirking; he could feel it.) He said something Harry couldn't hear over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears, but the tone was smug. He squeezed his hips and Harry groaned in response. 

He needed to remember for the future to make Draco come first. It was only Harry's powerful sense of duty keeping him from rolling onto his side and dozing on the table just then. 

"Gimme a minute," he croaked, stretching the kinks out of his body. 

*****

"Don't bother," Draco said on a laugh as he leaned over and down to kiss Harry's lips as he stretched. He gave them a playful nip before withdrawing from Harry, and then the table... Still hard as a rock. Despite not being the one to have just cum, his legs and arms were a little shaky as he carefully crawled away from Harry's legs and over the edge of the table, just barely missing a stumble over the chair.

He stood and stretched his arms high above his head.

"Having you cum like that was oddly satisfying all its own. We can worry about me later... For now, I am hitting the shower. If you can move, feel free to join me."

*****

"Nope. Nuh uh. No way," Harry shoved himself into a seated position, scooted to the edge of the table nearest Draco, and reeled him in. Unless he'd wanked himself to completion while taking care of Harry (which a quick visual inspection revealed was not the case), Harry was not going to let him leave without having had his turn. That resolve cut through his post-orgasm languor and gave him the boost he needed to shake the cobwebs out of his head. 

With him sitting on the high table and Draco slouching a little, their faces were almost level. He threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of Draco's head and pulled him down for a deep, sloppy snog. (Bleg. He could taste himself in Draco's mouth--he didn't find the flavour any less unpleasant than when it belonged to someone else. Too bad.) While they kissed, he palmed Draco's prick and gave it a light tug and then a firm one, sliding his foreskin over his crown. 

*****

The rejection had been confusing at first. Draco thought Harry was denying a shower with him, but then the Auror--quick to scoot to the edge of the table and gather him back--had Draco trapped between his legs and his tongue down his throat before Draco had much chance to think. 

Draco leaned forward into the embrace and lazily licked and sucked at Harry's invading tongue. He moaned softly as his cock was taken.

*****

Harry smirked against Draco's mouth, pleased with himself for having been right. He gave Draco's prick another few lazy wanks then turned him around so they were both facing the door. 

Retrieving his discarded wand to conjure some lube, he pinned Draco with his knees against his hips, his flaccid prick nestled in the soft curve of his arse, and placed kisses across his shoulders. He reached both hands around him. His right, coated with clear, shining lubricant, resumed its efforts on Draco's prick, gliding easily over the velvety skin now. His left, open-palmed, trailed possessively over the hard plain of Draco's abdomen before cupping and kneading one of his pectorals. 

He wanked Draco with long, sure strokes, using the same grip he liked on himself (made easier in virtue of their position). 

*****

Draco tilted his head for better access as his eyes drooped until they were half-lid and staring down toward his cock where Harry continued to stroke and squeeze. His hands first grasped Harry's knees before sliding slowly up toward his thighs, past his hips, and gripped both the Auror's firm ass cheeks--holding them in a firm grip as he bucked first toward the hand that sought to bring him release and then back toward the flaccid cock teasing his cleft. Draco's back arched into the hand at his chest.

"You're... Either more experienced than I thought... Or... Or you're very adept at experimenting."

*****

Harry chuckled warmly into Draco's nape, fine hairs tickling his nose where it nuzzled his skin. 

"I've had a fair bit of experience with wanking, if that's what you mean," he jokingly replied. He mouthed along the top of Draco's shoulder and rolled his nipple between his forefinger and thumb, eliciting a delicious gasp. "I've always been a quick learner," he added, voice a silky caress. "Particularly if the subject excites me," he tightened his fist when Draco bucked into it, adding friction and drag. 

Draco did excite him. He always had.

*****

Draco gasped and instincitvely scrunched his neck in as his nape was nuzzled. His thrusting had turned into a sudden jerk of his hips, but quickly returned to a smooth fluctuation--still rubbing against his lover's cock while enjoying the pressure of his hand. Both hands squeezed Harry's ass as Draco hoped to Salazar that Harry hadn't noticed the movement.

*****

"Draco," Harry grinned like the cat that ate the canary, wicked delight lacing his tone, "are you _ticklish_?"

He brushed his lips in a feather-light kiss to the back of Draco's neck making him gasp and flinch. Smirking, Harry filed that information away for later and returned to the task at hand. 

In hand. 

Increasing the tempo of his pumping and alternating between gentle circles and rough tugs on Draco's pebbled nipple, he sunk his teeth into Draco's trapezius for a branding lovebite. 

After sucking the mark into being, he moved his mouth to Draco's ear. "You should know," he breathed across the shell, "I plan to know every inch of you before we're through."

*****

Draco wanted to deny the accusation of being _ticklish_ , but the denial left him with a barely supressed squeak (replaced with a shocked gasp) when his neck was played with again. And knowing Harry he would exploit that weakness whenever he could.

However, there wasn't time to think about how to level the playing field, not with Harry's hand gripping his cock even tighter and his nipple being twisted so pleasantly. Those machinations would be saved for another day. Draco leaned back into Harry, his head lolling onto his shoulder. The bite to his tender muscle was a bit of a surprise, though not because of the bite itself... But because of the intense suckling and teeth digging--the intention of leaving a purposeful mark--that shocked the blonde Slytherin. 

"Before we're done today?" Draco asked, wondering exactly what Harry meant (today or at all?)

*****

Harry hummed against Draco's skin. He hadn't put much thought into the words before saying them--they were just supposed to sound sexy, dammit. The fact Draco even had the mental capacity to be overanalyzing them meant Harry was dropping the ball in the handjob department.

"Before we're done getting to know each other," he clarified, relatively sure Draco couldn't twist those words to take them the wrong way. "Now, hush."

He set about ensuring Draco wouldn't be able to ask a follow up question by anchoring his free hand on Draco's hip and pulling him flush against his body so he would have a full range of motion to wank him insensible. 

*****

Draco chuckled at Harry's annoyed tone, just before moaning deep into his throat. He tried to buck forward, but Harry's free hand had him pinned. 

"Harry," Draco whimpered as he bit his lip. "Harry, fuuck... Fuck...!"

It was rather sudden, but none the less intense. Draco's balls constricted and his head fell back again with a cry. His own hands gripped the Auror's ass tight enough to cause his knuckles to turn white. He breathed out a moan as he emptied--slumping backward into Harry.

"That was... Interesting," Draco said once he could catch his breath. He closed his eyes and grinned. "Someone was determined..."

*****

No matter who Harry had been with, he'd always taken a certain pride in making his partners climax. Draco was no exception. And, Circe's circlet, he came spectacularly--it was a full body orgasm, with whimpers and swears and moans and groans and spurt after spurt of hot, sticky come coating his hand as he milked Draco dry. 

Draco slumped against him when he finished and Harry wrapped the arm that had been holding him still around his chest to keep him steady. 

"You're so fucking sexy when you come," he rasped, still tugging Draco's softening prick. "Hell yes I was determined. I'm determined to do it again as soon as you're ready."

*****

Draco finally released the grip he had on Harry's ass and slid his hands instead to the Auror's hips. He pushed up, arching his body away lazily, and turned until he was facing Harry again. His arms went around Harry's neck and his lips moved to kiss and nibble along his jaw.

"The place where you bit me is sore," he breathed. "Did you mean to mark me, or was it just passion?"

Draco licked the edge of Harry's jaw where it met his neck.

"Where should I mark you...?" 

*****

"Because the half dozen you left on my neck aren't enough for you?" Harry scoffed, holding Draco round the middle and smirking up at him. 

He eyed the purpling mark on Draco's shoulder with pride. "That was fully intentional," he replied, "although I feel passionately about it, as well." He gave Draco his best lopsided grin and a smacking kiss on the side of his face before pulling back to speak. 

"You can heal this one," he tapped the faint red lovebite from the park, "but I want this one," he dropped his mouth and sucked on the new mark, making Draco hiss, "to stay."

*****

"I'll just keep them all," Draco replied as he flopped across Harry, sending him sprawling back over the table--Draco laying atop him. "And those bites were playful... Markings, yes, but nothing too serious. I doubt they will last more than a day. 

"What I want," Draco began as he moved to hover over the Auror and smile, most evilly, above him, "is something to say 'hands off!' To anyone who might be interested besides me."

*****

Harry grinned. "Are you trying to claim me, then?" He found he didn't mind the idea so much. He wasn't the kind to sleep around while he was seeing someone and it seemed that was what he and Draco were doing. While that hadn't been his intention at the outset--he hadn't had one, really--now that they were there, he was glad to see Draco establishing some boundaries. 

"And what about you? What's going to tell the world you're off the market?"

*****

"Hmmm... Well, besides this lovely new mark on my neck, what did you have in mind?" Draco quirked a brow. Their position was becoming an annoyance for his back, so he carefully crawled onto the surface again and sat at his place on Harry's lap--cradling his cock between his cheeks and curling his knees at Harry's sides. "I was thinking I would leave a bright and shiny new bruise right here at your jaw, but perhaps that isn't clear enough for others?"

*****

"I'm sure we'll think of something," Harry replied airily. He had a few things in mind already. "But let's move this party to somewhere more comfortable. I don't think shagging is what this table was designed for, in spite of its admirable--and memorable--performance."

*****

Draco sighed, knowing that meant he was expected to move again. He lifted himself up and carefully climbed back down from the table to the floor, grabbing Harry's hands and pulling him up with him. 

"Bedroom, then? Is it clean this time or shall I avoid eye contact with anything besides you again?" Draco smirked.

*****

Harry chuckled. "I picked up for you. You should be flattered."


	18. A Romantic Night Out

It had been a month. A whole damn month and Harry hadn't made any progress on Draco's case. Slytherins were crafty and Parkinson and Zabini particularly so. They'd covered their tracks well and their solicitors had buried him and Ron in a mountain of paperwork. 

Goyle's trial, at least, had been straightforward and quick. With his detailed confession and lack of defense, there was no contesting his sentence of six months in Azkaban followed by a lengthy probation and court-ordered Mind Healing. 

Draco didn't want to talk about it. That was ok with Harry--he didn't much want to talk about it either. The more time that passed, the more protective he felt and the angrier he got at his impotence there. He wanted Draco safe, and that meant putting the people who'd tried to hurt him behind bars. 

Draco, for his part, was completely cavalier about the whole affair, except for the rare occasion Harry caught him brooding. (But he always pretended that wasn't the case when he was called on it.) Besides the glaring elephant in the room, things between them were going surprisingly well. It still didn't feel real, but they'd been on several dates (most of which hadn't involved danger or intrigue), done a whole lot of not-quite-shagging, and generally enjoyed each other's company. 

Harry'd talked Draco into reading his stories out loud--which often (always) led to some particularly excellent not-quite-shagging--and Draco had taken to sending Harry gifts at work--signed 'Princess D' (which made Harry snort, Ron grimace, and the office rumor mill go into overdrive). The joke may have gotten out of hand now that the papers were speculating about the identity of Harry's mystery woman (when the only concrete things they knew about 'her' were her initial and the fact she was privy to Harry's weakness for treacle tart and top shelf vodka). Whatever. Harry never paid much attention to them anyway. 

He put his work frustration aside and straightened his suit in the mirror. He had a date to get to and a handsome bloke to pick up. 

*****

If anyone had told him just three months ago that he would be dating Harry Potter, he might have slapped them in the head with one of his own books and said to get help. The idea of his nearly life-long crush choosing _him_ , especially after everything he had done during the War, was such a far cry from reality for him that every day he spent with the man felt almost like a dream (though all of that was far too Hufflepuff to ever admit out loud.) Finding out Blaise and Pansy, his two closest confidants, might truly be "out to get him" was just as unbelievable and practically Earth shattering. And he hadn't been allowed to speak to either them, by floo or owl. Draco had expected them to at least attempt to speak with him, though--orders to avoid him or not, but received nothing. It almost felt like weird cosmic sacrifice--Pansy and Blaise in exchange for Harry. One he was more than willing to make if they were really behind any of the attacks. 

One month had passed. During that time Harry insisted on introducing Draco to as much muggle stuff (food-wise) as possible, insisting it would be good for him. Most times it was true, as with the case of certain cookie brands and the ice cream cake he always been curious about, but other times he wondered what Harry was thinking (as with the case involving certain vegetables he hadn't even heard of.) Draco also had never been introduced to cheap, canned beer (when Harry had mentioned them Draco had asked why they would drink something in a _can_ ) that he wasn't sure he liked but was interesting all the same.

Besides food, they had continued experimenting until very few things were left from their sexual repute, including actual penetration. In between ruts, their conversations grew increasingly intimate (and Harry had even convinced him to read his smut out loud, which turned into another kink.) No one would have to worry about the health of their sex drives for a long time, it seemed. 

Despite their conversation a month ago, beyond some vibrant love marks, they hadn't decided on what to use to establish exclusivity. Harry never mentioned what his ideas were on the subject, and Draco wasn't willing to push lest he accidentally force Harry into a rash decision. For now, he was satisfied with Harry's teeth on his neck and shoulders--hidden under his plain jumper. He had been told to wear something warm and "fancy muggle" for their date, which indicated they were about to hit another muggle restaurant (or street vender). It was amazing to think how willing Draco was to leave his home and wander about now when once the very idea of it left him short of breath and terrified. Maybe it was because it was muggle areas or maybe because it was Harry, or some combination of both, but be had virtually no qualms about leaving his home (for the umpteenth time) and enjoying some fresh air. Hell, he was _excited_ for it.

*****

A knock sounded at the door and Harry felt the flutter of excitement that always accompanied Draco's arrival these days. 

Plus a little bit extra. 

He was wearing the same suit he'd had on at the wedding when they met--this time with the top button undone--and he was looking forward to seeing Draco's reaction to it. He was also eager for their actual date. He'd planned this one with Hermione's help and thought Draco would be more than pleasantly surprised. 

Hermione had cornered Harry two weeks ago over the fact she'd given him 'two whole weeks' to come to her about Draco and he still hadn't done so. She wasn't pleased, which had less to do with the fact he was dating Draco than that he hadn't had the good grace to tell his best friend about it. She wasn't thrilled to pieces, mind, but she was cautiously supportive and had taken an active interest in their dating life, which she deemed romantically insufficient thus far. Hence the fancy date. 

Harry chuckled to think of it and opened the door for Draco with a smile on his face. 

Which promptly fell when he saw Draco's jumper and denims. 

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly. "Are you not feeling well?"

*****

Draco blinked at the fancy suit Harry wore, which was promptly followed by an appreciative once over. He looked down at himself, and for the first time since they began dating felt incredibly under-dressed. He gave a sheepish shrug.

"I don't have anything 'fancy muggle', which I didn't think was what you really meant. I mean, do muggles even know what 'fancy' means?"

Draco stepped into Harry's personal space with a grin and tugged gently at his blazer. He looked back up to catch Harry's eye and his grin grew even wider.

"You dressed up for me...? And we're going to a place without the possibility of greasy, though delicious, newspaper foods or Devil's Snare, or spiders--like that attic cafe you took me to?"

Draco pulled Harry forward into a hard kiss.

"Do we have reservations? I'll need to transfigure my clothes into something more... Appropriate."

*****

Harry put his hands on Draco's hips when he went in for a kiss and didn't let go when they separated. (Those hips made rather fine handholds.) He was relieved that Draco was ok and their plans wouldn't have to be canceled and he felt something like amused exasperation over the misunderstanding, a feeling Draco evoked in him often. 

"I don't think you'd let me off the hook so easily for such willful disregard of your instructions," he smiled (meanly). "I believe _I_ should get to transfigure your clothes for the evening."

He stepped back and appraised Draco thoughtfully, giving him a long minute to fret over the devious ideas that might be running through his mind. While it would be a fitting and delightful punishment to make Draco parade about in something scandalous, Harry had put a lot of time and effort into this date and he didn't want to spoil it just for a lark. 

Fixing an image in his mind, he brandished has wand with a flourish and murmured the incantation to transfigure Draco's 'fancy' muggle clothes into a slim fitting dove grey suit. Draco had tensed during the spellcasting but grinned with relief when he saw the results. Harry was impressed himself.

But he wasn't yet finished. He summoned a Gryffindor tie and matching pocket square from upstairs and handed them over with a gleeful smirk. "Your penance, princess."

*****

Draco was impressed with Harry's spellwork. Back in school, he wasn't exactly the best student when it came to Transfiguration. Somewhere along the line Harry had mastered the art (perhaps during the war?) and the result was a hansom, silk suit. The different shades of grey even complimented his eyes and pale skin perfectly. He was about to offer his compliments, until Harry brandished the tie and square--which he stared at none-too-pleased.

"Really? You're making me wear these?" Draco said with a sigh, but took the items none-the-less (knowing full well what a fit he might pitch if Harry denied his "punishment" for doing something similar.) Despite his hesitance, he folded the square and gently propped it into his pocket appropriately and quickly, skillfully tied the red neck piece into an Elredge knot about his collar. It took a minute longer to complete, but the mesmerized look on Harry's face made it more than worth the effort. It was an unusual, fishtail knot his father hated for being so "informal".

"Satisfied? Speaking of 'princess'..." Draco began with a smirk and a chuckle, "Just who could this Princess D I've heard about you consorting with recently be? The papers are all aflutter about it."

*****

Harry snorted and took Draco by the elbow to apparate them to their destination. "Why," he smirked, " _jealous_?"

Before Draco could answer, he whisked them to the apparation point for The Royal Albert Hall. The itinerary for the evening was a private box viewing of Mozart's selected works, with dinner provided by the Coda. It had cost a pretty penny but Harry thought the investment worthwhile after Draco'd been such a good sport about all their cheap dates. 

And he thought he might earn himself some extra special after-date entertainment for his effort. 

From the vantage of the apparation point, the Hall wasn't visible. Harry was glad--he wanted to get a good look at Draco's reaction when they came around the corner. (For all that Draco had grown out of the majority of his bigoted beliefs, he still thought muggles were substandard in the cultural domain.)

"For the record, you should be," he continued, as if there hadn't been a pause. "She sends me the most thoughtful gifts. And she knows the key to my heart is through my stomach."

*****

"I have competition, eh?" Draco asked with a sultry tone to his voice, a quirk of his fine brow, and a seductive smirk. He advanced the short distance between them and pulled Harry into a tight embrace. "I suppose I will have to rectify that."

He gave Harry's cheek a noisy kiss before letting him go in exchange for the Auror's hand. Draco winked.

"Later. After dinner. And something about a show? In the mean time I shall plot ways to win you back from this villainous noble."

*****

Harry grinned, charmed and eager. 

Hermione had asked what it was about Draco that attracted Harry enough to overcome their years of negative history and risk of public censure. It wasn't an easy question to answer, but when it came down to it, Draco was fun. He excited Harry and challenged him. Irritated him and made him laugh. Kept him on his toes. Made things interesting. 

He hadn't had nearly enough fun in his life to date. So screw anyone who cocked an eye at two giggling blokes holding hands as they rounded the building just east of the Hall. 

When they stepped out into the road, The Royal Albert loomed before them, stacked like an architectural layer cake, its great dome illuminated from within and without by thousands of electric lights. 

It cut an impressive figure in the skyline. 

*****

Draco laughed as he was pulled behind Harry to the hall, feeling as if he were young enough to be a student again. It had been a while since he felt so elated and free, and admittedly happy. He thought he was doing all right before, but time with his ex-rival made it clear how blinded he had been. Draco ran his free hand through his hair and grinned as they turned the corner, expecting to see something rather "typical" for a muggle version of sophisticated (at best he figured it was just a semi-nice restaurant and a low stage.) what greeted them, however, left his jaw hanging open and his grey eyes wide.

"Merlin's third nipple..." Draco murmured in awe at the glowing dome. "This is... Muggle? How--?"

*****

Hah! Harry's triumphant smile split his face--Draco was almost stunned speechless (almost, he was physically incapable of actual speechlessness). 

"It's entirely muggle," Harry affirmed, drinking in the sight of Draco so awed. "Just wait til you see the inside."

He lead them through the throngs of well-dressed people queuing up and milling about, up the grand staircase, past the towering statue that guarded the entrance, and through the doors into the colorful, modern interior. 

Unobtrusive classical music was pumped in through hidden speakers, setting the atmosphere for the evening's entertainment. Art in an assortment of styles lined walls. A young woman took their tickets and escorted them to the box--very near the stage, two stories up. The legroom left something to be desired (especially for Draco), but the velvet seats were otherwise comfortable, the view was good, and their privacy was assured, which Harry appreciated most of all. 

*****

There had been some murmuring amongst the crowd as they made their way through: some were commenting on the state of their tightly joined hands while many others, especially among the older ladies, whispered comments about two hansom young men cruising through. Draco smirked at the attention they garnished, practically preening under it, until they reached the balcony. Everything was far more impressive than Draco had imagined. The seats were tilted a little too far forward (it felt like he would drop just from trying to sit down), and a little too close to the edge, but considering what he had thought he'd find instead he was none-the-less pleased. 

"You did well, Auror Potter. Who knew you had taste?" Draco chuckled, picking up a pair of complimentary opera glasses sat upon a golden stem. He looked at the contraption curiously. He recognized what they were, of course, but they were bent into the stem. A moment or two of experimenting finally released the binoculars and he snapped them into place properly. Draco held them up with a triumphant grin.

"Well done, sir knight. I suppose I can give you passing marks," said the man biting his lip the more excited he grew. "I haven't been to the theater in a while. Father always hated these things, surprisingly. I doubt the muggles know about _Arionelle_ or anything else classical wizard, so what will we be watching?"

******

"It's just music tonight," Harry answered, hoping that didn't dampen Draco's enthusiasm. "Mozart. You've probably heard of him. He is considered one of the greatest muggle composers of all time." (Hermione had given Harry an art historical lecture when they settled on the plan for the evening.)

A bottle of champagne sat on the small table in front of them. Harry poured a generous amount into each of their flutes and offered one to Draco. "To new horizons," he toasted, smirking over the rim of his glass. 

*****

Draco accepted the glass as he set the binoculars aside. He wouldn't need them if it was a musical show (magical theaters often had great visuals to accompany music, and he supposed that muggles hadn't thought of such a concept yet.) He traded the flute into his left hand after giving Harry's glass a small tap, his now free right hand slipping casually onto Harry's thigh and squeezing.

"To new horizons and pleasant surprises," Draco replied at last before taking a long sip. "Music, dinner... You nearly have a perfect trio event set for the night, but even without the dancing this has been wonderful thus far... And I am very much looking forward to everything. Including this Mozart. I may have heard his music before, but if he was muggle then I may have simply decided not to bother remembering his name... It was how I was raised, you know."

*****

Harry dropped his hand onto Draco's, who obligingly turned his palm up so Harry could link their fingers together. 

"I know," he said, feeling inordinately proud of Draco for having come so far from the nasty, spoilt git he'd been groomed to be. Here he was on a fully muggle date--his fifth if Harry's math was right--and he was practically bouncing in his seat with his excitement. Harry experienced the swooping elation of spotting the snitch and held more tightly to Draco's hand. 

"And I'm glad you're looking forward to the rest of the evening," he smiled after another sip of champagne. "I wish I could take full credit, but a lot of this was Hermione's idea." He was unwilling to pretend otherwise; it wasn't honest. "She told me I needed to take you on at least one date that communicated to you how much I think you're worth. So here we are," he gestured with his glass at the opulent expanse of the Hall. "I had the big picture idea--a nice dinner, music, dressing up. She found the venue."

*****

"Granger came up with this?" Draco asked with surprise, but after a second he chuckled and squeezed Harry's hand. "I should have known. I'll have to send her something nice later."

Their seats were close enough that Draco could easily lean in and kiss Harry's cheek, which he did with an added lick to his neck.

"I see, so you really do want to keep me... I'm glad. Have you decided what you'd like to use as your official mark? Besides the nice bruise I'm still sporting on my thigh? I think I know what I want for you."

*****

Harry cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. He'd planned to say this later, but there was no time like the present. 

"Yes, actually," he replied, voice slightly strangled. He coughed a second time to loosen his vocal cords and continued, "I want to have Ron and Hermione over for dinner this week. With us," he added significantly, rubbing his thumb over Draco's knuckles. "And then I want to take you out in public. Diagon maybe. And put the rumors about your identity to rest. Assuming you're ok with it," he hedged. 

*****

Draco blinked at Harry with the admission. It took a few seconds to register exactly what it was Harry was asking for--asking _of_ him. The idea of dinner with his closest friends alone was a bit nerve wracking, especially considering their pasts, but the fact that Harry wanted Draco in his inner-circle meant quite a lot.

The public thing might take a little longer to consider, since he hadn't been out in a Wizarding crowd since the wedding, their disasterous garden dinner, and a charity auction his father had dragged him to a year before (and a small scattering of dinners out with his former "friends"). Draco's heart quickened with panic just at the thought, but as his gaze moved to lock with Harry's--staring so earnestly into his... Draco knew he couldn't say no. Even if his hands grew a bit sweaty.

"Yes, I will. Not what I expected, but this means far more than just a claiming trinket," Draco breathed, slowly regaining his composure as he shifted his thoughts and anxiety around to focus once again on Harry. "That actually does mean a lot to me. But what if someone attacks us? And your job... Isn't it already hard considering who you are and how many out there hope to challenge you for it?"

*****

"I can count on my hands the people whose opinions I care about," Harry answered truthfully. "And something being hard has never been a deterrent to me. Especially not now," he winked, unable to resist the terrible joke. 

Coming out as...not straight (he wasn't sure yet what box he fit in, just the one he didn't) would make waves. Doing so with Draco Malfoy might cause a typhoon. And you know what? He was fine with that. The only things he worried about were the possibility of upsetting his loved ones (and even then, their opinions only held so much sway) and Draco being in danger for his association with him. But if Draco was willing to take the chance, Harry certainly was, too. 

*****

Draco rolled his eyes at the obvious reference, but the Auror's speech caused a grin to once again light up his face. He squeezed his lover's hand and did his best to suppress the blush that threatened.

"Well, if you can handle it I certainly can," Draco said with mock pompousness. He tugged Harry's hand over gently and kissed the back of his hand, then bit his thumb--just before slipping the digit into his mouth. He suckled on it until it was nearly numb before releasing it and settling their hands back down on Harry's thigh.

"Just a small preview of my own show. For later." 

*****

Harry stifled a groan. "That's just cruel," he whispered, lowering his voice because a black-and-white clad server appeared with their starters but a moment after Draco released his thumb (making him think that said server might have appeared earlier and politely waited for them to finish). 

The girl placed their food in front of them and offered to top off their glasses. Harry declined. He could pour for himself and he was eager to be rid of her. The house lights flashed, signaling the time to take a seat, while the server continued to bustle around them. Draco looked curious and slightly alarmed. 

"The show's about to start," Harry murmured reassuringly. 

He offered an off-handed thank you to the girl on her way out the curtain that separated their box from the hallway and glanced at their food for the first time. It looked good. Fancier than soup, salad, and starters had any right to be, but so much the better for Draco. 

*****

Draco practically cackled under his breath when Harry groaned. A triumphant smirk played about his lips as he settled into his seat just in time for dinner to arrive. The server girl bustled about professionally enough, but there was light pink on her cheeks--possibly from observing his thumb sucking. He quirked a brow as her breasts came too close to hitting him in the face (they were quite large. How did she not fall under the weight?), but soon she was gone and in her busty place their starters. Draco's mouth, much to his own surprise, watered from the smell of pea soup laced with--he sniffed more closely--mint and panna cotta. 

However, his attention was instantly caught by the sudden darkening of the entire theater. A sharp, sudden playing of notes caught his ears and nearly deafened him. He turned wide eyes on Harry, who was wisely quick to comfort him before panic began to set in. He breathed a long sigh of relief and turned back to the stage.

Oo00oo00oo

It had been a brilliant night. Draco and Harry clapped their appreciation with the rest of the crowd as the curtain fell and the last of their dishes was swept away. Draco turned to Harry with a smile, one that was far calmer than he had felt in a long time. He took Harry's hand in his once more and squeezed.

"The tortellini was magnifique," Draco purred. There was a light tinge of color across the bridge of his nose. Behind him still sat three empty bottles of champagne, most of which Draco embibed alone. He lifted his free hand, sans glass, and caressed the jaw of his date affetionately. "Have I told you yet how hansom you look? Glasses, no glasses..."

*****

Harry grinned. Drunk compliments were the best compliments, in his opinion, because they were the most honest. Draco wasn't truly drunk--which was incredible given the amount of alcohol he'd consumed--but he was certainly buzzed. His body was loose, his smile easy, and his compliments free-flowing. 

"You've mentioned it," he replied. "But it's still nice to hear. What did you think of the music?"

He'd rather make conversation while the Hall emptied out than fight his way through the crowd. 

*****

"It was beautiful. I love music with emotion instead of the usual dead-pan more recent works use. You know, that 'deep' and dark tone that many of today's composers think you've never heard before but had already been mastered and used?"

Draco leaned in and kissed Harry's lips, several times. Many short, wet, lip sucking pecks.

"I had a wonderful time. The food and entertainment were excellent, as was the company."

*****

Feeling bold, Harry cupped the back of Draco's head and pulled him in for a real snog. He tasted like capers and wine. 

"Do you want to go out for dessert," he asked against Draco's lips, "or whip something up at home?" He had a definite preference between the two, but he'd let Draco choose. 

*****

"Dessert. Here," Draco said with a chuckle as he leaned away and sat back properly in his seat with a smirk. "You can just wait to 'whip something up' later."

*****

Harry heaved a dramatic sigh but finished it off with a smile. "As you wish," he graciously replied. Having dessert there would at least let most of the patrons filter out and the terrible congestion outside the building clear away before their departure. And he had been impressed with the food so far. 

"They have a limited dessert selection here," he informed his date. He'd studied the menu carefully beforehand. "Of the options, I think you'd like either the chocolate torte with blood-orange sorbet or the mango and passion fruit cheesecake best. Both sound good to me. I'll skip the black olive ice cream," he added with a grimace. 

*****

It hadn't escaped his attention how Harry had referred to Grimmauld as "home" and not "my place", which caused an enigmatic smile to grace his features as Harry politely agreed with his suggestion, but chose not to comment on it in case it was a slip of tongue.

"How about we take both of your suggestions and share? I wouldn't mind," Draco purred and slid his hand across Harry's thigh (teasing the edge of his clothed cloth.)

*****

Harry grabbed Draco's wrist to stop him just as Miss Perfect Timing appeared to ask if they wanted dessert menus. Harry put in their order and turned to scold the irrepressible tease as soon as their server left. 

"None of that if you want to eat here," he chided, eyebrows drawn and expression stern. "Unless you're interested in expanding our sexual repertoire to include exhibitionism," he clarified. "I'm pretty sure Becky or Betsy or whatever her name is wouldn't mind."

*****

"I wouldn't mind, honestly, since it would cement my claiming of you, but that woman annoys me. She keeps tapping my face or shoulders with her breasts," Draco sneered, but didn't relent none the less. He used his left hand to capture Harry's, the one gripping his wrist, and with his right now freed once more cupped and rubbed Harry's cock. "Don't worry, I just want to touch it a little. When she gets back I'll stop."

*****

Harry groaned, shifting anxiously in the chair. He was torn between spreading his legs for Draco and crossing them primly.

"'A little' is my least favourite amount of touching, you bloody tease," he complained, but Draco's wicked hand won out. He leaned into the seat back and widened his knees as his prick began to swell in response to the relentless stroking. His ears strained to listen for approaching footsteps lest their busty server get an eyeful when she returned with dessert. 

*****

Draco didn't heed Harry's anxiety. There was no one around, as far as his tipsy brain knew, so he carefully crawled from his seat and sat on Harry's thighs--legs propping up almost uncomfortably at the Auror's sides. He had both hands curling and squeezing around Harry growing member with a smirk.

"This way you can relax and I can watch for the girl. Just make sure you don't make too much noise."

*****

Good Godrick, Draco was impossible. Gryffindors were known for their recklessness, sure, but this was pushing it even for Harry. (His prick was totally unfazed by his worried conscience, however, and cheerfully grew to fill Draco's hands.)

"You're not even looking out for her, Draco," he hissed; Draco's heavy-lidded eyes were fixed firmly on the bulge in his trousers. He couldn't bring himself to unseat him, though--Draco was too damn sexy for either of their good. 

*****

"Yes, I am," Draco removed his hands as Harry reached full chub and stood, carefully making his way back to his seat and settling back down--just in time for the girl to push back the curtain and enter with their desserts.

"Can't wait," Draco commented as he watched both desserts settle on the small table before them. He grinned and lifted a spoon but chose to wait until their company left before digging in. "Have you read the latest about your apparent affair with a Princess D, Harry? Apparently she has to be beautiful to catch your attention, since they speculate you are quite picky."

*****

Harry dropped his head against the seat back with an agonized groan. 

"I'm paying you back for this," he warned, peering at Draco (who was contentedly digging into the cheesecake without a care in the world) out one slitted eye. "With interest."

*****

"I look forward to your vengeance, pet. Or should I call you 'darling'? Should we involve pet names...?" Draco shook his head and turned to Harry with a spoonful of cake and syrup. "Want a little?"

*****

Harry took the offered forkful if for no reason other than his need for a pleasant diversion. It was a good one, at least. The cheesecake was smooth and tangy, the fruit acidic and not too sweet (but still enough to make his jaw tingle). 

"You already have one, princess," he replied archly, licking a bit of cream off his upper lip. "And I am quite picky. You just happen to be up to my high standards."

****

"Ah, yes. So I do," Draco chuckled as he took another helping of cake and ate it with a content sigh. "It has a truffle-like texture, I think. Now, tell me when you plan to have this dinner with Granger and Weasley. I suppose I should go shopping for some clothes... Besides what I tried to wear today, I still only have tight or revealing pieces, unless you don't consider backless things skimpy for a male?"

*****

Harry snorted. "Maybe don't try to give Ron a coronary at our first dinner together, yeah? Save it for the second one, at least."

He speared a raspberry and a forkful of torte and popped the bite into his mouth. There was something casually intimate about sharing food with another person. He was enjoying doing it with Draco. 

"Wednesdays are good for them usually. Molly watches Rose so they can have a quiet night to themselves."

*****

The moment Harry went for another bite (this time with more cake than raspberry), Draco caught his wrist and stole the piece right off his fork. He made a hum of approval.

"I can't wait to try the chocolate next," Draco murmured as he swallowed. "Delectable idea to order both! Glad I thought of it."

Draco took a serving that was more crust this time, but didn't immediately stuff it away. Instead, he left it hovering as he considered Harry's words.

"Give Weasley a coronary? I don't know... You _are_ terribly tempting. Just feeling you swell up under my hands is enough to satisfy me. Or, hell, even after we've cummed it's delightful just to touch you for the feel of it. You are rather incredible... For a Gryffindor." 

*****

Harry picked up the cheesecake plate and held it protectively against his chest, angled safely away from Draco for his next bite. 

"You are exactly as horrible as I would expect a Slytherin to be," he retorted, waving his empty fork accusingly. "Bite stealing cock tease."

Satisfied with his unhindered taste and really quite full at that point, he returned the plate to the table and settled in to watch Draco. The man ate like he did most things--slow, absurdly sensual, and deliberate. The way he licked his flatware wasn't helping the ache in Harry's bollocks any. But it was a delicious torture. 

*****

Draco huffed and ate what was on his fork, purposely licking from stem to prongs with only the tip of his tongue, a sultry smile, and his eyes boring into Harry's with invitation. He slid the head between his lips once more before setting to work on the second dessert before he grew too full. Usually he would never be able to stomach so much, but he knew he'd need his energy for Harry's "revenge".

"So... Wednesday. I assume you don't mean tomorrow but next week, yes? I suppose that would be an appropriate time. Maybe I'll wear that pair of leather trousers you like so much?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue when the next update will be. Maybe tonight? Tomorrow? Next week? I can only promise it won't be next year xD


	19. The First Time

It wasn't much longer. The waitress had returned and offered to wrap their food "to go", a concept Draco hadn't heard of at a sit-down restaurant before, so what was left was put into surprisingly lovely boxes with silver writing. The crowd had died down enough to walk through with only a minimal amount of issue. Draco had a hand on Harry's arm, "allowing" his date to carry what was left of their dessert. 

Perhaps because of the case, or because he was genuinely curious, as they left the grand hall Harry decided to ask about Draco's parents, which somehow led to the engagement contract Draco once had with Pansy. It might have ruined the mood, but Draco felt far too airy to be bothered. It did, however, lead to far more detail than Harry had originally anticipated. 

"To put it simply, they married out of obligation and wanted me to do the same. Being gay changes nothing. I'm sure that on some level they did care for each other very much, as they do continue to be quite civil--even affectionate, but my father never planned to stay with her. I sometimes feel sorry for my mother, though her life today is apparently very exciting. She told me of exploring the pyramids just last week--the pyramids! My mother! But I think she was a lot like Pansy in that she had hoped it would be a permanent arrangement. When I broke things off--well... Nevermind."

*****

"Can I make a request?" Harry asked, pulling Draco against him in preparation for apparating. "No more talking about your parents this evening," he smirked before taking Draco's mouth in a kiss and sending them home.

As soon as they were on the doorstep, he pushed through the wards and in through the door, dragging Draco along behind him.

*****

"You asked about them!" He reminded with a laugh after they apparated, but seemed to consent. The Slytherin allowed himself to be dragged into the home and toward the upstairs bedroom.

"Oh no, what ever shall you do with me?" Draco asked in feigned distress and laughter. "I'm such a delicate flower! I bruise like banana! Do you plan to implement torture? Oh woe is me!"

*****

"I'd offer to be gentle," Harry smirked over his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time, "but you always call me a Hufflepuff when I do."

He was out of breath by the time they made it to his room (but that had more to do with his anticipation than his exertion). He vanished Draco's clothes--having decided ahead of time that was entirely fair--and herded him with nudges and kisses until he tumbled backwards onto the bed. 

*****

Draco gasped as his clothes suddenly disappeared (perhaps he should have expected that?), but the minor shock of being nude disappeared as his lips and neck were dominated by Harry's attentions--easily walking back and falling onto the bed with the fully clothed Auror on top. His hands, once his brain began to function again, grabbed for Harry's top and pulled him into a rough, mouth slanting snog with his tongue already slithering inside.

*****

With Draco laid bare before him and so many truly excellent places he could put his mouth, Harry broke the snog after just a few seconds to move on to unexplored territory. He kissed along Draco's jaw and to the thin skin behind his ear, trailing the pointed tip of his tongue down to Draco's fluttering pulse point. His prick, never having fully calmed after Draco's attentions at the Hall, was painfully hard and leaking. He ground down on the thigh between his legs and moaned against the side of Draco's throat. 

*****

"You're so randy," Draco chuckled breathily as Harry rutted and groaned against his leg. He bucked his hips forward to press his own growing hardness into Harry's hip. "Since this is apparently 'punishment', how do you want me this time? Boss me around, Auror Potter..."

*****

Harry rolled a bit to the side so he could get a hand on Draco's prick without losing contact with his leg. The prat acted surprised that Harry was eager--as if he hadn't just spent the last thirty minutes mercilessly turning him on and then leaving him out to dry. He tugged Draco's prick, enjoying the slide of skin under his palm, and rubbed his thumb on the sensitive spot just under the crown. 

"I want you on your back," he answered authoritatively, voice low and gravelly (because he loved the way Draco shivered in response). He dragged his hand over Draco's prick again and squeezed at the top. 

"And I want you to do exactly as I say."

*****

Draco pushed Harry's hand away from his cock in order to pull himself up along the bed until he was properly settled against the pillows, and then bending his knees up and laying his arms above his head.

"I'll do anything you want me to it you'll only spare my life," Draco replied in an overly dramatic tone. He grinned.

*****

"Is that a fact?" Harry purred, eyes glinting dangerously. "In that case, hold on and don't let go."

Draco complied with a smirk and Harry shifted between his legs, kissing his way down. Draco probably expected a blow job--Harry'd discovered he was something of a natural and liked doing it besides--but he had something else in mind. He pushed Draco's legs up higher and further apart, exposing his sweet pink ring. 

In for a knut, in for a galleon. 

Harry sealed his mouth over Draco's arsehole and licked. Draco bucked like a wild thestral so Harry held him down and did it again. This was something neither one had tried before, though Draco threatened him with it on occasion. The taste was musky but not unpleasant and the act dirty and thrilling. Harry squeezed Draco's thighs and ate him out like he'd been born to it. 

*****

Draco quirked a brow as his legs were lifted and spread apart. He knew Harry wouldn't do anything untoward, like suddenly penetrate him, but there was a leap in his stomach of anxiety none-the-less. He gripped the headboard above him tight, and then nearly ripped one of the bars out as his sensitive bud was suddenly tasted.

"Fuck--! Ah..." Draco jerked his head aside and planted his feet firmly into Harry's shoulders. Not to knock him off but for stability. He bit his lip and hissed as the pucker was nipped.

"That feels... Weird and good at the same time..." Draco commented, though words left him as his entrance was slowly invaded by the stiffened end of his tongue--the pink muscle teasing his entrance.

*****

Harry grinned against Draco's arse. He prided himself on his cunilingus; he was glad to learn that eating arse wasn't so different from fanny. Draco's heels dug into his back but he didn't mind--the noises he was making more than made up for the discomfort. 

He pushed Draco's cheeks apart and plunged his tongue inside, past the tight ring of muscle and into the scalding channel. Draco yowled and squirmed. 

"Like that, do you?" he asked smugly, leaning up on his elbows to see Draco's face. He looked half-shocked and entirely awed, his hands were white-knuckled on the slats of the headboard. Harry felt a surge of mixed triumph and lust. 

"Want more?"

*****

Draco half-glared at the hero, his chest heaving. He had no idea just how sensitive he was down there, despite his experimentations and everything he and Harry had ever done. 

"Is there nothing you're not good at?" Draco asked with a huff, just before releasing the headboard with his right hand and shoving Harry's head back down toward his ass. "Yes, give me more."

*****

Harry snickered. "You're not supposed to let go," he teased with a pinch to Draco's cheek before diving back in for more. 

He alternated broad swipes of his tongue with circles around the outside and probing thrusts, working Draco wet and loose until his jaw ached something fierce. 

When he could do no more, he gave Draco's ring a parting kiss, sat back on his heels, and took his shaft in one hand, stroking his glistening entrance with the thumb of the other. 

"Mmm, you're so hard," he moaned, playing it up for effect, tightening and relaxing his fist on Draco's prick. "I bet you want to come. Do you, Draco?"

*****

Draco grasped the bars above his head once more with another petulant huff, though whatever negativity he was feeling faded away immediately as soon as Harry complied. He nodded curtly.

"Yes, I want to cum, Harry... I want you to do it, make me cum so hard I forget my name."

*****

Harry shuddered. Godrick, hearing Draco talk like that would never get old. 

He thought about drawing things out, teasing Draco in retribution for all his torment earlier, but Harry was just too impatient for revenge. He traded his middle finger for his thumb and pressed the tip inside. Draco wasn't wet enough for thrusting, but he lodged his finger in place and stroked the perimeter of Draco's prostate while wanking his prick with quick, rough pulls. 

"Come on then," he urged as Draco gasped and panted and trembled like a leaf. 

*****

"Ahh, stop--wait," Draco gasped as he removed Harry's hand from his cock and gently pulled his other hand from inside him, as pleasant as that felt. They had never come at the same time before, and Draco was determined to change that as he widened his legs and pulled Harry into the cradle of his thighs. Their cocks pressed together as Draco pulled him in and hugged the Auror over his thighs to lock him into place--his hands gripping Harry's shoulders.

"Just pretend you're really fucking me and have at," Draco stated playfully and winked. 

*****

"You are the absolute _worst_ at following directions, do you know that?" Harry grumbled, raising a pointed brow at Draco. "Honestly." It was a bloody miracle Draco had survived Voldemort's brief reign. (Thing 3,172 not to think during sex.) "People think I'm bad." 

He sat up and lifted Draco's rebellious hands, pressing his fingers around the slats of the headboard once again. "Do. Not. Move. Unless. I. Tell. You. To." He enunciated each word carefully, fixing Draco with his most authoritative stare. 

Draco huffed but didn't argue; he gripped the headboard where Harry'd placed his hands. Good. 

Harry nodded once. 

"Now," he said, untucking and unbuttoning his shirt as he spoke (he'd lost the jacket at some point but he had no idea when), "I'm only going to ask this once and I will accept any answer you give--" he tossed the shirt off the side of the bed and set to work on his belt and the fastenings of his trousers. 

"Are you sure you want me to pretend?"

*****

Draco's eyes widened at the question. His hands squeezed the bars above his head as he considered Harry, mainly to register if he was being serious or not. A slow, gentle smile graced his lips as his eyes darkened.

"Make love to me, Harry," Draco whispered, wanting to kiss him but not wanting to move--in case Harry grew annoyed enough to stop.

*****

Harry drew in a quick, surprised breath through his nostrils. Even though he'd asked the question, he apparently hadn't been prepared for Draco to say yes. 

On the one hand, it was just sex. It wasn't a big deal. He'd done it before and he and Draco had done everything but. It was simply a matter of slotting their bodies together in a slightly different configuration. 

On the other hand, it was so much more than that. It was important. And it mattered to them. It was a first for each of them that there could be no going back from. 

He wanted this with Draco, he was sure. 

And Draco--who watched him breathlessly with soft, deep grey eyes--wanted it, too. 

A matching smile spread across Harry's face. "Gladly," he said, quiet and sincere, before shucking his trousers and pants and crawling over Draco to kiss him soundly. 

"You should make yourself comfortable," he murmured against Draco's lips, trailing a hand up his side. He kissed him again before vowing, "I intend to do this right."

*****

Draco released the headboard when given permission. He grabbed for Harry's shoulders and pulled him down into a longer, tongue delving kiss--nipping his lips before pulling away and laying back down properly.

"Prop my knees up on your shoulders. Otherwise I'll need a pillow for back. And be careful! You break it, you bought it."

******

Harry snorted. He didn't mind Draco's terms. His bossiness, however... 

"So impatient," he tsked, nipping Draco's bottom lip. "Remember 30 seconds ago when I said I was going to do this right? I meant that."

He reached over to grab the bottle of lube off the nightstand and scooted to the end of the bed once again. "Budge up," he said, nudging Draco's knees up and back. He coated his index and middle finger with the slick substance and rubbed both down Draco's perineum and across his hole. Draco quivered under his touch. 

Panting slightly, Harry pressed his middle finger inside. 

*****

Draco bent his knees and laid his left leg at his side as the other hovered above the bed over his hip. He held his upright knee with one hand as the other gripped the blanket and squeezed. His brows furrowed as he was slowly penetrated by a single digit.

"Face to face or chest to back?" Draco somehow managed to ask even as he struggled to breathe. Having something inside wasn't so nerve wracking (he had Harry's fingers inside him at least a dozen times now)... The realization that _Harry_ was about to be inside him was frazzling. He licked his lips and relaxed his muscles (as much as his fresh bout with nerves would let him) to allow the intrusion.

"... Harry," he moaned gently as his prostate was nearly touched.

*****

"Shh," Harry soothed, working his finger slowly in and out as Draco began to relax the vise-like tension in his body. "We don't need to rush." He bent forward and kissed the inside of Draco's knee. "You can change your mind at any point," he murmured, gently stroking the bundle of nerves inside him. "For now, just focus on the feeling."

*****

Draco nodded, followed immediately by a groan, and closed his eyes. A long, deep breath escaped between his lips as his body slowly began to settle. Despite certain incidents in the past (like at the park), Draco had an issue with letting go of control. Even when he was acting submissive he had an escape route back into the lead... This time was different. Draco's toes curled as his prostate was pressed.

*****

Finally a directive Draco could comply with. It probably didn't hurt that the feeling Harry wanted him to focus on was good enough to have his toes curling. 

Harry pressed again and Draco arched his back, hands clutching helplessly at the bedclothes as a wonderful breathy whimper escaped his lips. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the pillows, unfurling like a flower. Harry licked his lips and pumped a little faster, a little harder, caught up in the idea of what it would feel like to be buried in that tight, clinging heat. Draco moaned and writhed, tugging at his own hair with one hand and holding his leg up with the other. It was the hottest damn thing he'd had ever seen. 

He carefully withdrew his hand and added more lube--no such thing as too much in this instance. He leaned low over Draco to take his mouth in a searing kiss as he inserted two fingers where one had been before. 

*****

Draco panted through his nose as he was kissed. He thrust his tongue as a diversion into Harry's sweet mouth (made even sweeter by the desserts they had consumed)--slanting his mouth and lapping at his tongue. Draco's free hand slid into the Auror's hair and tugged gently.

*****

Harry wanted to keep snogging but he couldn't support himself on one arm and continue doing what he was doing with the other (and that job took precedence at the moment). 

He pushed himself up onto his knees and curled his fingers against Draco's prostate in a 'come hither' gesture, which make Draco toss his head back into the pillows with a deep, delicious groan. 

"Do you want a third," he asked, "or....?" He left the rest of the question unspoken, suddenly shy about the phrasing. 

*****

"Do it," Draco released his leg when his arm started to cramp and instead used it to caress the side of Harry's face, his thumb pressing into the skin of Harry's lips. He stared up into Harry's brilliant, practically glowing green eyes with a trace of uncertainty, but it wasn't for the act they were about to commit. Draco turned his eyes away for a moment, closed them with a deep breath, and then turned back looking determined.

"It's been a short while, but you ought to know before you do this... I love you. And I guarantee I'll be that much more attached afterward, so you better not toss me away in the morning! You don't have to feel the same, mind, and I'll completely understand if you don't. Just... I figured you should know."

*****

Harry froze. 

Love was a tricky thing for him. 

It used to be that he said it to everyone he dated, starting with Ginny, until he realized that it wasn't true. What he felt was similar, but not the same: fondness, lust, infatuation, attachment. 

So he stopped saying it altogether until such a time as he figured out what love was like in a romantic context. He loved his family, that was certain. But that love didn't have the complication of sexual attraction. 

At the moment, that complication was particularly...complicated. 

His fingers were still, but remained inside, and began to be crushed by Draco's interior muscles tightening with apprehension. He kissed the pad of Draco's thumb where it rested against his lips and turned his face to nuzzle against his palm. 

"I'm quite fond of you," he replied gently, holding Draco's gaze and hoping that was enough to convey his sincerity. "I have no intention of tossing you aside." He pressed his cheek into Draco's hand again and ran a palm lightly over his bent leg, trying to settle the tumult of emotions scattering his thoughts. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth and calmed the storm. 

"If you want to save this for someone who reciprocates your feelings, I understand completely. That might even be me someday," he smiled with a squeeze to Draco's knee. "In the meantime, we can do more of what we've done before."

*****

Draco's entire body visibly relaxed. He smiled again as his hand slid from Harry's cheek into his hair and pulled him down for a quick kiss.

"No, I definitely want this... I just needed to confirm this was okay for you. It is nice to know you're fond of me, at least," Draco laid back and placed both hands into the bed on both sides of his hips, waiting to be positioned. "Go ahead."

*****

Harry's blood thrummed in his veins. He slicked his prick (breath catching at the feeling of his own hand; this probably wasn't going to last long) and cast the necessary spells. Draco watched him all the while with eyes gone dark and piercing. 

For once, he was quiet. 

Harry turned him on his side and kissed a path from his ribs to his hip, pushing the knee of his top leg up to his chest and mounting him in a modified spoon position. It didn't require quite as much gymnastics as some of the front facing options but still offered the closeness and ability to snog, which were a requirement for Harry this time around. 

He wanted to ask if Draco was ready, if he was sure, but he'd already said yes to both. He might grow irritated or doubt Harry's willingness if he continued with the questions. So he lined up his prick with Draco's entrance and pushed. 

*****

Draco's head fell back to watch his lover as he nodded and began to enter him slowly. Draco had played with toys before, as he so often stated (leaving out the detail of them never being particularly big, certainly not Harry's size at least), and obviously had a number of his own fingers inside, but Harry's cock somehow felt larger than anything as it slowly broke his ring. He did his best to keep his breathing steady as one hand pulled a pillow under his neck to avoid discomfort and the other laid on Harry's hip with a squeeze. 

Harry's brows were furrowed in concentration as he entered Draco, and so carefully--to avoid hurting him, most like. It was dreadfully sweet and certainly appreciated (Pansy and Blaise had both complained of pain after their first times).

Draco bit his lip to hold back a whine.

*****

It was so bloody tight. Harry had expected that--he'd experienced it with his fingers just minutes ago and other times besides--but he hadn't been prepared for how it would feel on his prick. He wanted to thrust forward, to drive himself into that exquisite channel, but he held back for Draco's sake. 

"You ok?" he asked breathlessly, brushing Draco's fringe off his forehead and noting the way he bit his lip. 

*****

Draco felt comforted by the affection, but couldn't speak. He hadn't expected it to hurt after all their experimenting (and his own), but it did. It stung after Harry popped in and even more so the further inside he pushed. However, Draco merely nodded at the question--unable to answer and to hopefully avoid alarm in the Auror. Draco took a deep breath to help loosen his muscles.

*****

"Liar," Harry accused fondly. Draco's expression was pained, his breathing ragged, and he was trying to just will his way through (which was not the way Harry was going to deflower someone). 

"Pain and discomfort are always worse when you're not in direct control of them," he explained patiently, withdrawing until just the head of his prick remained between Draco's arsecheeks. That was a principle he'd learned formally in Auror training, but which had been deeply ingrained in him years earlier. "So take control, Draco. Tell me when and how you want me to move. I'll do exactly as you say."

*****

"Ah," Draco gasped at the odd feeling of Harry pulling out to his head again. His muscles immediately began to calm, though he could feel himself gaping somewhat from the progress Harry had made. Draco nodded again.

"Short increments, I think. Thrust in a little, pull out, and push in again a little more..."

*****

Harry did as he was told, pausing frequently to give Draco the opportunity to instruct him and watching closely for signs of distress. Draco remained quiet but he no longer appeared at risk of biting through his lip, at least.

Harry withdrew and thrust again and he was finally fully seated. They both exhaled the breaths they'd been holding, Draco with a whimper, Harry with a groan. The feeling was incredible. He leaned forward and plundered Draco's mouth with a deep, posessive kiss.

*****

Draco panted through his nose, both from the exertion of being deflowered and from the intensity of the kiss. He suckled on Harry's tongue and lips for distraction until his arse muscles began to calm (not entirely, but until the burn was tolerable). He licked his lover's bottom lip before breathing, "Move," and starting the kiss all over again.

*****

Harry did as told, with great relish. He was still careful not to hurt Draco, but he began to pump his hips in long, slow thrusts. Draco broke the kiss to gasp; it sounded more like pleasure than pain so Harry rolled his hips once more, balanced on his knees and toes. The sensation was exquisite. Different than a cunt. Rougher, even with lube. Tighter, but in a limited ring around his prick rather than even along the whole thing, like wanking with just his thumb and forefinger. He got off on the novelty of it. 

Merlin, he was fucking a bloke. 

It was surreal. 

But it wasn't just any bloke. And it wasn't just fucking. It was Draco and it was his first time and he'd said he loved him and wanted to be made love to so Harry kissed him deeply and thrust gently, pouring all the emotion he felt for him into all of it. 

*****

Draco allowed Harry to control their stride as the Slytherin grew used to having someone inside him. It was only a little different than what he had imagined (he had thought the experience would be excruciating, but was happy to note it wasn't nearly so bad, quite possibly thanks to his years of intense wanking in there.) Once he was certain he could move he began to slowly thrust back, squeezing Harry tight as he fluxed his hips and lower back.

"Harry... Harry..." Draco moaned between desperate kisses. One hand squeezed Harry's thigh as the other gripped the bed for balance.

*****

As soon as Draco started to move, Harry was done for--he was too damn sexy and it felt too damn good. 

"I'm not going to last," he warned, breaking the kiss to bask in the glory of Draco moaning and writhing beneath him, chanting his name like a prayer. It was a beautiful thing. 

He didn't know how good a job he was doing hitting Draco's prostate, but he sure could toss him off confidently. He let go of Draco's knee to take up his prick and wank him to completion, trying desperately to hold off his own impending climax long enough to see Draco through. 

*****

Draco wrapped the arm squeezing Harry's hip around his neck and into his thick forest of hair. He gripped it like a lifeline without tugging on it to avoid hurting Harry. His hips meanwhile thrust back onto the Auror's cock and then forward into the tight hand that held him.

"So close...!"

*****

It was Harry's turn to bite his lip as he struggled against the sense of inevitability tightening his bollocks and putting a stutter in his movements. He was hot all over...but it paled in comparison to the scorching heat gripping his prick.

"Draco," he choked, pleaded. "Come on, baby."

*****

Draco's head fell back, his eyes screwed shut, and his mouth was wide with a deep, guttural moan as he finally came all over Harry's hand. The Slytherin's body stiffened through his orgasm and his inner walls constricted on Harry's length. After a few long seconds it was done and Draco was falling limp against the bed.

...

It had been a pleasant experience, but almost sad now that the blonde's mind was free to wander again. He felt sated, complete--claimed. Like he was truly, utterly taken. He decided not to voice that (despite what a wonderful feeling it was) and just smiled as he turned his gaze on Harry.

"I do believe I am traumatized now," he breathed with a bright smile. "I'll have nightmares for weeks, I'm certain..."

*****

Draco's body went rigid and he came, hot and wet, in Harry's hand. (Not the first time and hopefully not for the last). The muscles of his arse spasmed around Harry's prick, triggering his own release and ripping a harsh cry from his lungs. 

He surged forward for one last deep thrust and collapsed onto Draco, who slumped against the bed with a contented smile and dry quip. 

"You know what they say," he replied, panting still and peppering the side of Draco's face with kisses. "The best way to overcome a fear is to face it head on. We'll have to do this again. More than once, probably, if you're as traumatized as you say."

*****

Draco chuckled wearily as Harry laid his weight into him. He ran a hand down the Auror's jaw until he could press his thumb in the slight dip of his chin. 

"Not tonight, though... The first time for Blaise had him hurting into the next day. I'm going to need pain potions if you're hoping to have more fun some time soon."

*****

"New rule," Harry slurred, pillowing his head on Draco's shoulder, "no talking about other people's sex lives right after we've shagged. Or before," he added after a moment's thought. "Or during."

He gingerly withdrew his softening prick from Draco's arse, making both of them hiss and Draco wince. 

"Does it hurt?" he asked solicitously, rubbing Draco's flank with a still-tingling hand. He had hoped that between Draco's dubious wank toys and all the foreplay that evening they'd avoid that outcome. 

*****

"It's raw, but... At least it doesn't feel like I've been ripped apart," Draco replied, completely disregarding Harry's new rule. The blonde carefully turned until he was comfortably on his back, slipping an arm under Harry's neck. He kissed his forehead. "It'll be your turn next time~"

*****

"Hm," was all Harry said in response before employing the foolproof defense mechanism of falling asleep on his lover. 

*****

Draco rolled his eyes, cuddled up, and gave the top of Harry's head a kiss, before promptly falling asleep.

oo00oo00oo

Harry awoke before Draco (which wasn't all that surprising seeing as it was still morning). They'd tossed and turned through the night and ended up spooning, with Harry on Draco's back. His arm was cast possessively over Draco's waist and Draco's ticklish nape was a scant inch away from his face. Try as he might, Harry couldn't resist the temptation to rub his nose in the soft hairs there. 

Draco woke with an indignant yelp and irritable grumble. He swatted blindly at Harry and pulled a pillow between them for protection, curling into a sleepy ball under the blankets. It was almost offensively cute. 

Unfortunately, much as he'd like to laze the day away in bed with the sexy Slytherin, Harry had a job to go to. And a case that was now more important than ever to solve. 

He snuck out of bed--his efforts at stealth wasted on Draco (who slept like the dead)--and went about his morning routine, content to let the man rest as long as he wanted after the night they'd had. 

*****

Draco, surprisingly, snored. Not big heaping growls like Harry, but a soft whistling that was just barely audible below the fort of pillows and blanket he had made in his exhausted attempt to defend himself from the evils of his torturous lover. By the time Harry was done with his routine Draco was still buried, still asleep, and definitely not up for waking any time soon...

That was until he suddenly smelled bacon. It was permeating the air like a delicious, greasy tease to his nose. Slowly, cautiously, a blonde disheveled head rose like a mummy from a coffin and blinked. However, sitting up he found to be rather uncomfortable, so he groaned (not in pain, per se, but in definite discomfort) and laid back down.

"Harry," Draco half-whined. "Harry! I can't feel my legs and my ass feels like you used a mace on it! You've ruined me!"

*****

Either anal was much more damaging than Harry'd been lead to believe or Draco was a whinging baby who'd exaggerated his experience with scary-sounding sex toys. He was inclined to believe the latter, but given that Draco'd been gracious enough to let him shag him, Harry felt he owed him the benefit of the doubt in this case. (Though it certainly wasn't encouraging him to let Draco have a go any time soon.)

"It was just my prick," he replied, setting the breakfast tray on the foot of the bed and sitting down next to it. "I'd thought you rather well aquatinted with it before last night. But I can get you a potion if you'd like."

*****

Draco stretched his nude body out until the sheets and blankets fell away from his feet and torso. His toes straightened, his back arched, and arms circled his head. Draco turned his attention back to Harry and smiled.

"It's not really that bad... Just aches in my lower back and hips. Inside I feel... Well, a potion would be nice, yes, if you're making me leave again like you do every morning, which I will forgive you for in advance as long as I get bacon."

Draco pulled the sheets and blanket off until he was completely exposed and bent his knees away from the bed. His arms stayed where they were.

"You do look rather... Delightful in your uniform. Perhaps when we've done this a few times and my body gets used to it we can try for a quickie sometime?" The blonde winked at his partner. "So, bacon?"

******

Harry shook his head fondly. "You're giving me mixed signals, Draco. The only thing I'm sure of is that you're randy as a crup with two dicks and you need bacon." He bent to kiss Draco on the mouth, unperturbed by morning breath, and then stood to fetch the potion. 

"Eat up," he prompted, nodding toward breakfast. "You're not supposed to take potions on an empty stomach."

He went to root through the potions cabinet in his loo--which was rather well stocked--and returned with the requested phial. Draco had propped the tray on his lap and was happily crunching through a rasher of bacon, foregoing the toast and eggs Harry'd made to accompany it. 

"It's here if you need it," he said, placing the potion on the nightstand. "I have to go now but, uh...you don't." 

It wasn't the most spectacular invitation to stay, but it was sincere. 

*****

Draco laughed at the crude description and happily took the offered tray. He moved to sit back against a few propped pillows settled against the headboard and dug right in (meaning he was enjoying his bacon with relish, sucking on an end for the juice before crunching the well cooked meat between his perfect teeth. It was kind of touching that Harry already knew Draco liked his bacon nearly burned--extra crispy.)

But not as touching, or as shocking, as Harry declaring almost casually that Draco didn't have to leave.

"What?" Draco asked to be certain, after swallowing what was in his mouth to avoid any disgusting displays.

*****

"You can stay," Harry repeated. "If you want." He tugged nervously on the edge of his robes. "Don't open the door or unlock the Floo for anyone, and remember that if you leave, it'll be a one way trip. Otherwise, help yourself to anything you find in the kitchen and feel free snoop all you like," he offered cheekily. "I don't think I've left any more deep, dark secrets laying about," he added with a wink, feeling less unsure of the decision in the face of Draco's sweet, awed expression. 

*****

Draco was tired (and full of delicious bacon), but couldn't help but smile at the offer. He nodded and began to break his toast apart to eat in small, dignified pieces.

"When do you get off work? Maybe I'll stay until then. Or at least long enough to replace your trousers with tight leather and hide your pants."

*****

Harry snorted. "Just remember what happened to your clothes the last time you ruined mine," he warned, ruffling Draco's hair for the fun of it (and because he could). "I'll be home by half five unless something comes up at work, which I'll firecall to warn you about if I can."

He gave Draco a farewell kiss, but paused in the doorway on his way out. "I'd like it if you were here when I got back," he admitted over his shoulder, using up all his courage to do so. He left before Draco could reply. 

*****

Draco quirked a brow and bit his lip as Harry left. The grin on his face felt huge and possibly permanent. There was a great surge of happiness swelling within the blonde and he didn't even try to suppress or control it. Instead, he nibbled at his toast and shook his head.

 _And just how is he supposed to firecall if the floo is locked?_ Draco thought with a chuckle. _Eh, he'll figure it out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WORKED SO HARD FOR THIS CHAPTER YOU GUYS HAVE NO IDEA I HAD TO WADE THROUGH AN EMAIL SERVICE I NEVER USE ANYMORE AND IT HAD LITERALLY THOUSANDS (PLURAL!!) OF EMAILS I HAD TO ERASE AND LOOK THROUGH AND I ALMOST EXPLODED.
> 
> I should also point out that ONE post from Playout is missing. One. Let's see if anyone could tell where it was?
> 
> Next update same as last: I can only promise before next year.
> 
> EDIT: After another day of searching... I found the missing posts. This should make it all look a thousand times better.


End file.
